


Rings and Things

by Findecutie, MayGlenn



Series: Russ and Finno Verse [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-11 17:31:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3331970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Findecutie/pseuds/Findecutie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after their weekend retreat Fingon completes Maedhros' betrothal ring and their engagement is formalized. What should have been a quiet celebration soon becomes wild as their siblings decide to celebrate with a party that will be remembered for years to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Fingon sat at a large desk, opening and closing a box of his own making as it sat in front of him. It was built of ebony wood inlaid with silver and red gems, forming a pattern of flames along the outer edge and an eight pointed star in the center--a design to honor the house of the Spirit of Fire. He began to stand, then turned back, opening the box to pull out the ring inside. He cast a critical eye over it, taking a cloth and carefully polishing what might have been the smallest speck on one side. He fiddled with it, sliding it onto his own finger though it was too large for his hand.

"Irissë at home without parental or Turukáno's supervision, you say?" Celegorm had said, riding up next to Maedhros.

"You're not coming, Tyelko," Maedhros ground out, and had urged his mare a little faster, but he was no match for his brother's horsemanship.

"If you want her to walk in on whatever you and Finno get up to, fine, by all means--"

"Up to what?" He insisted. "She can walk in on us at any time. Findekáno and I--"

"Oh, fine," his golden-haired brother had sighed dramatically. "I suppose I'll have nothing to do but speculate with Moryo what you and Fin--"

And that was why Celegorm rode up to Nolofinwë's house just behind him. "Behave yourself," he told Celegorm without much force.

"Ha. Behave yourself," Celegorm shot back, so Maedhros was grinding his teeth and fidgeting when he arrived at the door to Fingon's rooms.

A knock sounded at his door, and he shot out of the chair, pushing the ring back into the box and closing it. He crossed the room, opening the outer door of his suite. “Russ!” He grinned, launching himself into his cousin’s arms. “You’re early! How are you? How was the ride? It looks like rain this afternoon--I thought you might get caught in it.”

It was easy for Maedhros to brighten when he saw Findekáno, however, and threw his arms around his cousin warmly. "The ride was fine. Tyelko is here, as well."

“Already off to debauch my sister? At least they won’t bother us, I suppose.” Fingon shook his head in amusement, hands coming up to play with the sections of Maedhros’ hair that cascaded over the front of his shoulders. He laughed at his cousin’s disgruntled look, but opted not to tease, though he and his sister would doubtless find themselves spending an evening chatting quietly and sharing stories after the Fëanorians had left. “Will you come in? I have something for you--though I suppose you already know what it is.”

Maedhros smiled shyly, looking up at Fingon through his eyelashes. "Yes, I have a guess," he said, and shut the door behind him before pressing in for an eager kiss, cupping Fingon's face as he did so. "Ah, Finno, I have missed you," he breathed.

Fingon slid into his cousin’s embrace eagerly, eyes closing and hands clutching at Maedhros’ back and shoulders. “Beloved,” he whispered against Maedhros’ lips. “How I have missed thee. It has been days… and yet it was as though the light everywhere dimmed for want of your presence.” He kissed Maedhros lightly. “But you are here, and that is good.”

A quick tightening of his arms, and he was backing away, eyes still on his lover as he made it to his desk, picking up the small box and immediately fiddling with it. It was… it was still not perfect. He was not sure where the flaw was, but he was certain box and ring could be made better, more worthy of Nelyafinwë. And yet his lover was here, and he already wore Maedhros’ betrothal ring. He would not deny him this because of his own shortcomings. Hands twisting nervously, he held out the box for Maedhros. “For you.”

Maedhros' grin widened impossibly as he took the box, reverently, from Fingon, running his hands over it. "It is beautiful," he breathed. "Did you make this, too?" He pulled Fingon against him, stepped back to lean against the desk, taking Fingon with him so they were hip to hip.

“I did. It’s still not perfect--but I didn’t want to make you wait longer. Not when I already wear your ring. It is a constant source of comfort--a piece of you to carry with me, and a physical representation of our promises by the lake.” His fingers went to his chest as he spoke, drifting over the spot where it lay. He reached out at a thought, fingers brushing over Maedhros’ and keeping him from opening the box. “Russ, no one is here but for Irissë and Turko. And nobody will be arriving for several days.” He reached up, pulling the chain over his head and laying it in Maedhros’ hand. “Could you--would you put it on me? I would very much like us to wear them together, at first. At least for right now--the door is locked, and we are the only Eldar in the room…”

"I will--" Maedhros vowed, "but wait until I have yours. Yes?" He pulled Fingon even closer now that he was confident they were alone. "May I open it?" He returned chain and ring to Fingon, and his hand hovered over the box.

Fingon took a deep breath. He knew that Maedhros would never tell him if he disliked the ring--he could remember Maedhros appearing amazed and proud and pleased when he, much younger, had brought him gifts of strangely shaped stones or sticks with interesting knots in them or a garland of flowers. And yet he desperately wanted to please his cousin. He desperately wanted to find some spark in his eye to show that he was pleasantly surprised with the ring’s design. “You may--the box and what it contains are yours if you like of them.”

Maedhros took his eyes from Fingon's gaze only after he flicked the lid of the box open--after which his eyes were wrenched physically away by the light playing off-- "Oh Finno!" He cried, almost dropping the box, and tears misted his eyes. He was almost afraid to touch it: it looked delicate, and the craftsmanship was flawless--else any flaws it had Maedhros was blind to. He turned to Fingon: "Give me your ring. My ring. The ring I gave you--please--it is no longer suitable. I will make you a new one, more equal to this--"

Fingon’s hand instinctively clutched the ring-- _his_ ring--to his chest. Never before had he withheld something Maedhros had asked for… but this was his ring, their vow. His eyes were slightly horrified as he looked at Maedhros. “No, Russ--please don’t. My ring is _perfect._ It is… it is perfect! There is an elegance hidden in its simplicity that I could not hope to match in my crafting. And if our situation were more open than it is--if I were but a few years older-- I would never have let it leave my finger.” His looked at Maedhros pleadingly, cradling his ring. “This is your promise--our promise. You gave it to me on our trip soon after we came together for the first time. It is perfect, and means the world to me. Please do not ask for it back.”

"Ai, Findekáno," Maedhros said, embracing Fingon again, and kissing his cheek. "If we could wear these publicly I would insist you give it back to me, for I would be embarrassed for you to be seen on the street wearing--" he laid his hand over Fingon's hand where he clutched the ring. He looked back at the ring in the box: silver strands interlaced together like braids. "It reminds me of how your hair twists." But when he reached out to touch it-- "Oh! Findekáno! I broke it!" He cried, horrified, as the strands fell apart.

Fingon laughed, his voice like the tinkling of a meadow stream over rocks, and he pressed himself to Maedhros’ side, throwing an arm about his shoulders now that he was certain his own ring was safe from repossession. “It’s not broken, Russ. You’re the master of plaiting, so I made you a braid of our own (and our families’) colors. Beautiful on their own--but much greater together. Or something like that was the idea, at least.” He reached out for the disassembled ring. “May I?” And holding it out, with several quick turns the eight strands were together once more. A small piece of wire from his desk was twisted around the bottom, and the ring was stable for the moment. He offered it back to Maedhros. “And _my_ ring is perfect. So please don’t speak ill of something I am so partial to.”

Maedhros took the ring, marveling at the craftsmanship--in a few places he saw where his father would note room for improvement, but to get it all to fit together like that! The colors interwove their two families' colors beautifully: "Findekáno, what a marvelous thing!" He had a grin on his face that hurt his cheeks. "How did you think to make this? I--I would have you show me again how to put it together, but--but right now--" Still grinning, though he tried to be serious with his eyes, he handed the gift back to Fingon, and took the ring he had made from Fingon's hand, from the chain, poised to slide it onto his betrothed's finger. "If you're ready?" It was suddenly difficult to breathe.

“Of course. I am.” He smiled at Maedhros, heart racing. “I think I always have been, arimelda. Please.” He held out his hand for Maedhros, and though Fingon took back the ring he had crafted, holding it in his free hand, his eyes were drawn to his own ring held between Maedhros’ fingers.

Licking his lips, Maedhros slid the ring on Fingon's ring finger--he marveled at the fit, at the beauty of Fingon's hands, at the unending circle around Fingon that was of his making. When he spoke he stuttered at first, but his tone quickly became formal, his tongue careful to form the words with their due reverence and import. “M-my heart I give into thy keeping, and I here pledge my intention to thee wed in nine years' time, with the Stars themselves as witness." He met Fingon's eyes, and clasped his hand. "My eyes and my ears shall be on thee, my words shall be for thee, and my fëa bound to thee, for in thee I have found Light. In faith I intend to make thee mine, as I shall be thine, and should our bond sever after the deep contemplation of our hearts, no hurt or ill will or malice shall fall upon thee." He had to say the last bit, concerned with tradition as he was, but it was mere formality. An existence without Fingon was no existence at all. Hurt, ill will, and malice did not cover it.

Fingon bit back a grin at the overly formal and borderline pedantic recitation Maedhros gave. Each sound was carefully uttered, and he heard years of Fëanor’s teaching in the careful phrases. Fingon untwisted the wire holding the ring he held together, and held it to the tip of Maedhros’ finger. He slipped the ring onto Maedhros’ finger, thinking that while he delighted in seeing his mark upon his cousin, the ring was dull compared to the graceful beauty of Maedhros’ hands themselves. Then he looked up, meeting Maedhros’ eyes. His own eyes watered lightly, and Fingon blinked, trying to clear them.

“My heart I give into thy keeping, and I here pledge my intention to thee wed in nine years time, with the Stars as witness.” His eyes bore into his cousin’s as he pledged himself wholeheartedly. “My eyes and ears shall be on thee, my words shall be for thee, my fëa bound to thee, for in thee I have found light. In faith I intend to make thee mine as I shall be thine, and should our bond sever after the deep contemplation of our hearts, no hurt or ill will or malice shall fall upon thee." He fell silent a moment, glancing down at their joined hands and Maedhros’ ring. The words, though ancient and traditional, failed to do justice to the depth of his feelings for Maedhros, or to the their current and future bond. He looked at the ring for several seconds, then turned to meet Maedhros’ eyes with a blinding smile. “Kiss me?”

Maedhros grinned. "You ask as though it were a chore--or as though it were not required to fulfill the betrothal words. But I would kiss you, anyway," he declared, and moved in, the kiss chaste and loving. Their bodies warmed where they touched, hands and lips, until Maedhros pulled Fingon flush against him, chest to chest, and deepened the kiss.

Fingon moaned softly, his tongue dancing with Maedhros'. He could feel his _betrothed's_ heart racing, and slight tugs where Maedhros' fingers were playing with his plaits. He smiled against him, arms around Maedhros' back, and his thumb constantly stroking over his ring--which was finally back on his hand, where it belonged. "Russ," he whimpered against him, "Russ," as though all the questions asked across the whole of Arda and the answers and resolutions to all things asked and unasked could be found in that name. He stopped playing with the ring as his hands tightened on Maedhros' back.

Maedhros turned suddenly, lifting Fingon up and sitting him on the desk so that their height was more equal, and he moaned (accidentally) rather loudly. "Ah, Finno," he breathed, breaking the kiss just for long enough to breathe before pressing them together again. His hands tangled in Fingon's hair, and he drank in Fingon's scent and taste, memorizing them, before he broke free again. "This is the happiest day of my life!" He reclaimed one hand just to look at the ring on his finger again. "This is beautiful, Findekáno. Absolutely beautiful. It reminds me of you--as it should: delicate in appearance, but strong, and--" he laughed, "very tricky!"

Fingon blushed and hid his head against Maedhros’ neck for a moment. Then he laughed, and stepped away. “You like it!” He said with a grin. “And we are formally betrothed--this calls for a celebration! I have fresh berries and tea in the room, and there should be a bottle of champagne in the kitchens… if our siblings have not yet discovered it. Which would you prefer? Or neither?” He was almost dancing on air- he felt light, and pleased, and effervescent, as though his body could not contain his excitement and pleasure.

"As long as I may continue to hold you, I long for nothing else, my betrothed, my promised, my light, my one." He tugged Fingon against him again and kissed him again, laughing. He pressed their noses together, sharing breath, before, "But yes, I suppose we should be keeping an eye on our siblings. I am not sure for whose virtue I worry the more--Irissë's or Turkafinwë's," he grumbled, though he was still smiling, still could not but keep his eyes on Fingon, and on his ring, and on his own hand, and on Fingon's ring. He twined their fingers together and tugged Fingon to the door. 

Fingon raised his hand slightly, opening his mouth to respond, then thought better of it. He shut his mouth, bringing his hand to his chin, before again thinking to respond. He stopped himself once more, lowering his head slightly and letting his cheek fall into his palm as he looked at Maedhros. Who appeared to have forgotten how the first time they indulged in one another’s flesh began. And that Fingon, in this very room, had the unfortunate habit of finding those two in any number of compromising positions. He shook his head, refusing to bring down Maedhros’ mood with the more than likely accurate response of ‘neither one’s, at this point.’ “To the kitchen, then?” he asked instead.

Maedhros frowned suspiciously at Fingon's reaction, but pulled open the door and made his way to the kitchens. He knew his way around Fingolfin's house as well as his own, and they arrived quickly, only to discover—

"Turko! Irrisë!" he shouted, discovering them in a highly--he shielded his eyes and backpedaled, pulling Fingon back with him. "By the Valar, Turkafinwë, what do you think you are doing?!" he asked, though really, he did not want to know.

There was a squeak from within, and a few thumps, and whirl of clothing and movement. Maedhros pinched the bridge of his nose. "REALLY?!" he demanded.

Fingon fought his way out of Maedhros’ grasp, heading around the corner without worrying for their modesty--he had surely seen them in less, now that they were desperately trying to cover themselves. He gave Aredhel a fairly dark look. “Really, Irissë, you would do this to me?” Maedhros appeared to appreciate his tone, for the moment. She shrugged sheepishly. “I _told_ you I was going to give Russ his ring. We come down to celebrate and you’re contaminating where we _eat_? That’s rude. Of both of you.” He shot a look at Celegorm. “As thankful as I am that you’re not in my rooms… no! I shouldn’t have to be thankful for that! The entire house is empty! Why here?” He threw up his hands in exasperation, as Aredhel opened her mouth trying to find an appropriate response.

"We were waiting for you--and we got bored," Celegorm said, grinning widely, but sure to keep Fingon and Aredhel in between he and his brother, who glared darkly. "Just because you like punishing yourself with rules, doesn't mean everyone does, Nelyo," he said.

"Turkafinwë..." Maedhros growled, but sighed. He had to pick his battles, and clearly he had arrived too late to this front. It occurred to him that this was what Fingon had meant all along about these two. "Look, are you two at least--do you--Irissë, you could become with child--this is not just a game!"

Celegorm snorted. "Look, if you think this is my first time--"

"For either of us," piped up Irissë, shoving Celegorm, and Maedhros had to bite down on his lip to keep from crying out in alarm.

"Anyway, I know what I'm doing," Celegorm concluded.

Maedhros' throat worked a few seconds as he let this sink in. "Just--clean up that table surface--I don't want to eat where your arse has been, brother," he snapped.

Celegorm dipped his head in a mock-bow as Aredhel tossed him a cloth and soap.

Aredhel sidled up to her older brother. “Couldn’t you have waited a few more minutes?” She half-growled the words. “And besides, I was certain you two would be busy.”

Fingon shot her a dark look. “My dear betrothed--“ he paused as Aredhel let out a squeal of delight and hugged her brother, grabbing at his hand “--thought it best to ensure you two were up to no mischief. And that both your virtues were protected.”

Aredhel stared at him. “And that both our virtues were protected?” she repeated loudly, incredulously. The two youngest Elves burst out laughing. Fingon slipped out of her grasp and went looking for the champagne and glasses--both, fortunately, in locations unlikely to be defiled by his sister and cousin.

Maedhros covered his face with his palm. "You're embarrassments, all of you," he said, but he might have been grinning, slightly. "A shame on the house of Finwë." But here he stuck out his tongue childishly at them.

"Anyway, enough about me," Celegorm said, throwing the dirty rag at Maedhros' face, causing him to splutter before dropping it in the washbasin. "I think some congratulations are in order--at least for Maitimo. Poor Fingon will have to wait for my brother to stop being a prude to have any fun at all. And that might be ages." He grinned up at his big brother. Maedhros just shook his head.

“Surely you’re joking,” Fingon responded immediately, refusing to have his lover’s abilities slighted. “A disinterest in the fornication of one’s young family members hardly implies an inability to satisfy one’s lover in bed. Or in any other place.” He gave Celegorm a slightly smug look, “And in case you failed to notice, Russ lives up to his amilessë of Maitimo. I do pity Irissë, that she has not had the opportunity to experience a lover so tall, so strong, so beautifully formed as your brother. One who is in every way a full-grown nér and possessed of all that entails.” He winked at the couple. “Besides, as the saying goes, those who are most proper in the streets tend to be the wildest in the sheets.”

"Findekáno!" Maedhros cried, flushing with mortification as much as with pride. Irissë giggled, however, quite spoiling his attempt at indignance, and, as it turned out to be the only thing to get Celegorm to shut up, he couldn't be too angry about Fingon's lack of propriety. Still, his mouth flapped for some time even after Fingon pressed a drink into his hand.

However, Celegorm was the first to recover, and, "So my brother is a nér, after all?" he said excitedly, slinging an arm around Maedhros' shoulders.

Maedhros, still unable to speak, elbowed him rather sharply in the ribs.

“Neither of us, as firstborn sons of Finwë’s line, will complete a bond without the proper circumstances,” Fingon said slowly, not wanting his words or their situation to be misconstrued. “However,” and he smiled warmly, “I can honestly say that my betrothed” (and how wonderful it was to call him that!) “has never left me wanting, unfulfilled, or anything less than wrecked.” He blushed lightly, but surrounded by his closest family members, it was impossible not to tease a little. “In fact, you could say the way in which we finally came together was really in thanks to the two of you little deviants--”

Maedhros moved quickly in spite of his large size and long limbs, grappling Fingon and clapping a hand over his mouth. "I do not think our siblings need to hear about that particular adventure," he said firmly, glaring at Fingon and then at the others sternly (though he could feel his control and his authority slipping): "At least not until we've had a great deal more champagne!" he tried distraction, taking up the bottle and pouring it out. "But here, we've got to eat something with it," he said, raiding the larders for cheese and bread or crackers. "What have you got to eat here, Finno? You said there were berries somewhere?"

Fingon shook his head, unable to speak clearly through fits of giggling that he was trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to hold back. This… this was a good day. And he couldn’t be more pleased with life. “There should be berries chilling--I’ll grab them and a marble slab if you want to set up a cheese plate. Perhaps some smoked fish to go with it as well? Seler, would you mind digging about for anything else that will go well with this? And perhaps we can move to… an actual table or at least somewhere that isn’t _that_ counter to eat?”

He leaned against Maedhros as he spoke, needing to feel him, wanting to be close to him in body in this moment. They were celebrating their betrothal, with rings freely shown on their fingers as they joked and laughed with family in his father’s home. This was perfection, albeit in a different way from the incredible beauty and… sacredness… of his time alone with his lover.

"Ooh, let me see the ring!" Aredhel squealed, snatching at Maedhros' hand. "Fin wouldn't let me see it," she complained by way of explanation, and once she observed it, with the appropriate oohs and aahs, she settled on: "Finno, you are such a sap," and shoved her brother on the way to taking plates out to the dining hall.

"Ooh, let me see the ring!" Celegorm echoed in high falsetto (which Aredhel deemed important enough to return only to stick her tongue out at him), as he took Fingon's hand and pretended to coo over it as a wilty maiden. "Actually, Nelyo, this is rubbish," he decided, returning Fingon his hand. "Whereas Finno's is a work of art."

"It's hardly 'rubbish'," Maedhros protested. "For all its plainness you'll find it is quite evenly balanced, and father approved of it's make (albeit without knowing its purpose). Furthermore it is made out of a coin Findekáno gifted to me on my thirtieth begetting day, which I had kept and treasured and--"

"Oh, Valar," Celegorm complained, rolling his eyes as he took the bowl of berries to the dining hall. "The _both_ of you are hopeless saps."

“You didn’t tell me that!” Fingon yanked his hand back to study the ring again, fingers tracing over it reverently. “And it’s perfect, Turko. Elegant, and beautiful. I’m sure your father would find some dozen things wrong with the ring I crafted--I’m fairly certain Curvo would find at least a few.” He ducked his head. “My best talents, I fear, do not lie in the forge. I can work passably there, though I am far more comfortable out of doors.”

Aredhel laughed lightly, slapping Celegorm upside the head. “Don’t insult them!” She paused. “It’s their betrothal day. Hoard up the insults and wait until tomorrow to unleash them all.” Fingon quickly held up a hand to clarify, having spent far too much time with his sister and Turko.

“That does _not_ mean you’re welcome to force your way into my room at some odd hour of the night or early morn to unleash your verbal store. Please wait until we are up and decent.”

"Nor does it mean we need you two spreading this around," Maedhros said. "If it came to father or uncle's ears, you can guarantee--"

"I wouldn't have an overbearing older brother anymore? Rissë, we have a new plan." Celegorm said, and Maedhros wasn't entirely sure he wasn't joking.

"I mean it, Turko. I don't really think you want me dead--"

"You're right. It's much better to have this to lord over you." Celegorm stuffed his mouth with berries. "If, for example, you made a fuss about Irissë and I staying up all night to braid each other's hair--" this was clearly euphemistic, as Aredhel began laughing uncontrollably "I would have to make a fuss about you and Fingon staying up all night to gaze into each other's eyes or whatever it is you do."

"You drive a hard bargain, brother," Maedhros said, rolling his eyes. "And you're going to grow up even more spoiled than you already are if every time I try to discipline you threaten revealing us."

"Good thing you're not my dad, then," Celegorm said.

"Good thing," Maedhros agreed. "Here, Irissë," he said suddenly, sitting up. He dropped a few berries into her half-filled glass of champagne (it was quite dry, just the way he liked it, though she, and Finno, for that matter, turned their noses up at the lack of sweetness). "That will sweeten it up for you, and turn it a bit pink--" he put some in Fingon's glass as well (if nothing else to displace the alcohol, which was a bit much for his lighter cousins) (in this as in many things, Celegorm was beyond help and also on his second glass already).

Fingon raised his glass in a half toast to Maedhros, perfectly aware of what he was doing with the berries. He would not complain, though. He had no desire to be intoxicated for this evening.

“Alright, everyone stop moving!” Aredhel raised her glass as the others froze. “A toast, to new beginnings, to kindred fëar united as one, to my dear brother and my dear cousin--may you find light in each other, and may all roads lead you to bright places. May you find strength and grace in each other in sorrow and in joy. My love and my best wishes shall be with you always. To Nelyo and Finno--my brothers.”

And Fingon raised his glass--he saw nothing wrong with that, or with her already calling Maedhros brother. For there was no power in Arda except for Maedhros’ wishes that could see them sundered even for a time, and where his cousin led he would follow. And that aside, Maedhros had acted as older brother to all of the Finwëans.

Maedhros' eyes misted as he gulped at the champagne, and if Celegorm or anyone noticed they did not say. He smiled brightly at Aredhel, and leaned over to hug her tightly. "Thank you, Irissë," he said, and kissed her brow. "That is very sweet of you." He settled back in the chair and crossed his leg as he took Fingon's hand. "This is a very good day. And we are glad to share it with both of you--even if Tyelko never lets me hear the end of it."

Even Celegorm had nothing to say to that besides tipping his champagne back and filling his and Maedhros' glasses. Maedhros let his eyes wander to Fingon and squeezed his hand tightly.

"If nothing else, when Tyelkormo gets a little more intoxicated, we can enjoy ourselves watching him try to catch berries we toss at him in his mouth," Maedhros said.

"Ah, yes, I need to be a bit drunker for that!" Celegorm laughed.

Fingon grabbed an extra berry out of the bowl and flicked it at Celegorm. His aim was true, and it landed, balanced, atop Celegorm’s head.

“Nice!” Aredhel admired, plucking it off and eating it.

“Or we can do that. Okay, food, toast, good company--what more could I ask for?” Fingon smiled as he spoke, squeezing Maedhros' hand white he tossed a berry up and down in his free palm, waiting for an opportunity to take another shot at Celegorm. "So, dare I ask what the two of you have been getting up to while Russ and I were away?"

"Oh, please don't ask--" Maedhros groaned, but Celegorm offered, anyway. 

"Well we just sent messages off to Maglor and Caranthir and a few other friends that we're having a party over here. You did say your parents and Turukáno will be gone for the night?" Celegorm turned to Fingon.

Maedhros was about to cut in, enraged, but Fingon was already grinning wickedly.

"Really?" Maedhros whined. This was really happening to him.

"It's all right, only the family will know what we're celebrating," Celegorm said, as if this helped.

"And we've got plenty of wine!" Aredhel hiccuped.

"Which you, young lady, have already had enough of for the moment," Maedhros said, dumping the remains of her glass into his.

“Just, please tell me you’ll keep the party in the garden. And mostly under control. And if anything bad happens, I’m blaming you Turko.” And that, Fingon thought, settled it.

"C'mon, Rissë, help me take the food out," Celegorm said, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. "If we leave the lovebirds alone long enough we might open another bottle of wine without them knowing," he winked at his brother as they tittered and giggled their way to the wine cellar.

Maedhros put his head in his hands. "They were planning this. Were _you_ in on this?"

Fingon looked at him, nonplussed. “I wasn’t even sure you’d accept my ring, Russ. I mean--I knew you would, but part of me thought you’d send me back to the forge to fix it.” He shrugged a shoulder. “All I wanted was an evening with you. But, as it is--the celebration’s expanded a bit beyond us two. Are you okay with this?”

Maedhros took Fingon's hands in his, pulling him close. "Of course I am. It is a nice thought, of course, and they mean well--" a loud shriek came from the cellar, and Maedhros winced. "I suppose if I'm the only responsible one at this party it still should be a bit of fun: it's a good thing Turukáno is away," he said with a wink. Turgon was a lovely, well-behaved cousin, but something of a snitch.

“Don’t even… just don’t.” He ducked his head with a grin. “I could hardly believe our fortune in that everyone but Irissë left just as I finished your ring.” He joined their hands together, raising them to lay a kiss on the back of Maedhros’. “Promise me you’ll save me dance tonight… or two, or three?” He grinned, leaning closer to Maedhros though he doubted their siblings would (willingly) depart the wind cellar anytime soon. “And maybe a private dance after we retire?” He leaned up to brush their mouths together. “Or two… or three?”

Maedhros flushed and laughed. "I will save every dance for you," he said, but the next sound out of the cellar sounded like a smack of hand on flesh, and a yelp followed, and Celegorm emerged, running on ahead with a tray full of food and rubbing his backside. "All right, you two--" Maedhros snapped, standing up.

“At least they’re dressed,” Fingon muttered, standing as well. “Irissë, Turko--we just wanted to say thank you so much for putting together this party for us. It’s nice to know you two have volunteered to set everything up on the patio and take care of drinks and snacks so that no one has any reason to be running around inside. If you get started now, I’m sure everything will be set up a few minutes before your invitees arrive. Good luck, and thanks again.” And that should keep them out of trouble for the rest of the afternoon.

Maedhros deflated, sending Fingon a grateful smile as the children hurried outside to light the lanterns and arrange the garden. "It's a shame we'll never have children," he teased, "you'd have made a wonderful mother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's interested, this is the design that inspired the ring Fingon crafts for Maedhros (though Fingon doesn't use the same color scheme):
> 
> http:// puzzlering. net/8b4c-side.jpg
> 
> http:// puzzlering. net/8b4c-side2.jpg


	2. Chapter 2

A few hours later Fingon and Maedhros were reading in one of the sitting rooms when the first horses made their way down the trail. Celegorm let out a shout, running out to meet them--Maglor and Caranthir were come. Fingon was reclining on the couch, a book on his chest and his feet across Maedhros’ legs. “Russ?” His cousin looked up. “What do you want to tell them? Or do you want to? I mean--what would you like me to do when they come in?” He touched his ring nervously--he knew they would need to take them off before most of the guests arrived, and already he was dreading it.

"I think we should--" Maedhros began, but the commotion outside quite distracted him as Aredhel and Celegorm rushed to the horses.

"Maitimo and Findekáno are betrothed!" Aredhel shouted even before they'd gotten down from their horses.

Maedhros leaped up.

"Irissë!" Celegorm snapped, pinching her and causing her to yelp. "I hope you're not like that through the entire party!"

"Wait, what?" Maglor cried, looking around, practically falling off his steed, barely catching his harp as it tumbled down after him.

"About time," Caranthir scoffed, and dismounted more carefully.

"Where are they?" Maglor asked.

Maedhros tore out of the house to attempt damage control. "Brothers! Macalaurë--Moryo--" But he had little to add, so-- "I'm glad you're here?" he said with a small grin.

Fingon followed close behind him, grabbing Irissë’s arm gently, but firmly, and quickly leading her into the house. At a look from Fingon, Celegorm stayed behind.

“Irissë, what are you doing?”

"I--" the laughter fell from her eyes at her brother's anger, though she tried to hold onto it. Fingon never looked at her like this, she thought. Turgon was overbearing enough. Fingon was supposed to be fun. "Well Turko said we could tell!" she protested.

Fingon sighed. “Irissë--sister, _please_ listen to me. In nine years' time Russ and I will be wed and then nothing can be done to sunder us. But right now? Russ is older than me, Irissë. And can you imagine what our fathers would say? They could forbid us from ever speaking again, seeing each other, completing the bond.” His eyes pleaded with her to understand. “They could break this betrothal if they learn of it. Russ is all I’ve ever wanted in Arda, and I never though he would want me--please, please little sister, don’t make me lose him.” He blinked quickly, trying to clear his watering eyes.

Aredhel looked down, biting her lip. "I'm sooorry," he said, kicking at the ground, anything to make Fingon stop giving her that _look_. "I wasn't going to tell Ada," she insisted. "Or anyone. You _know_ I want you to be happy, brother, don't look at me like that!" she cried, throwing her arms around his middle and burying her face in his chest.

Fingon wrapped his arms around her, pulling her up. Aredhel wrapped her legs around his waist and clung to him. “Shh. It’s okay, Irissë. I’m sorry, but you scared me. And I need you to understand how much I have to lose--Russandol is the other half of my fëa, and there will _never_ be another for me.” He rocked them back and forth, one hand rubbing her back. “Just don’t do that again--no sharing this with anyone, or speaking of it in the open. I’m sure Kano and Moryo will not betray us, but Russ and I should have been allowed to tell them and to decide when to tell them. Now let’s go say hello to our cousins, and at some point you really owe Russandol an apology. Alright?”

Aredhel scrunched up her face. "Ugh, _fine_ ," she complained. She would never tell her brother this, but Maedhros was scary sometimes and she wished Fingon had chosen someone a bit nicer to fall hopelessly in love with instead, but it couldn't be helped. "I love you, brother," she said, kissing his cheek. "Can you put me down now?"

Meanwhile, "Sorry about that, I--of course I really meant to tell you--"

Maglor chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. "You know I expected this when you showed father the ring you made. You could have told _me_ ," he admonished.

Maedhros looked down. "I know, I know--anyway, you know now. I'm sorry for not telling you earlier." He smiled up at his brothers. "Thanks for coming--both of you." He took Caranthir by the shoulder and pulled him into an embrace.

“And miss a party at Nolofinwë’s… hosted by Turko? I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Caranthir laughed at the look on his eldest brother’s face. “Truly though--congratulations on your betrothal, and on winning the heart of the Elda you love. You’re very lucky, Russandol.”

Maedhros laughed, but Celegorm spoke first: "Indeed he is--Findekáno is at least twelve times more fun than our dear well-meaning but hopelessly boring eldest brother. Although from what I hear--"

"Enough of that now!" Maedhros cut in, clapping a hand over his brother's mouth.

"Oh, the ring!" Maglor exclaimed.

“Let me see it!” Caranthir grabbed for Maedhros’ hand, pulling it down Celegorm’s mouth. “Exquisite,” he murmured. “I think I see--yes, a few flaws.” He slowly turned it, to view the ring from different angles. “But I think little Findekáno has outdone himself this time.” He glanced at Maedhros. “Father may actually appreciate this for the design despite the errors in execution.”

Maedhros reclaimed his hand in a huff. "As you may or may not have guessed by the secrecy of this arrangement, I don't very much care what father does or does not appreciate about this ring. I think it is perfect--and I will wear it throughout the party--" he said as Fingon returned, and put his arm around him. "And Fingon will wear his. I doubt anyone will notice. They're all Turko's companions, anyway, and they'll be drunk within the first hour."

"Which reminds me," Celegorm said, urging them inside. "Let's do some shots before everyone gets here. I brought the good stuff from home--"

Maedhros didn't have the heart to tell him no.

Three hours later the light of the Trees began to dim. Music drifted through the air, and half filled and empty forgotten glasses and bottles were scattered about the tables and grass near the patio. Fingon sidestepped a swaying Elda and grabbed Maedhros’ sleeve. “Come with me?” he asked, guiding them into a hedged garden a small distance away. The sounds of the music carried through the garden, and Fingon smiled, taking them through several turns to a small grass-covered clearing. He slid his arms around Maedhros’ neck. “Dance with me?”

Maedhros had probably had too much to drink, because though his coordination was still perfect, he was clearly overbold, because he wrapped his arms around Fingon and pressed (an albeit chaste) kiss to Fingon's brow. "Of course, my Betrothed," he said, and grinned: "I like saying that," he said, as they swayed together (it was a slow song, echoing too loud even here, and anyway they'd both been taught to dance with elf-maids so the mechanics would probably get awkward).

“I like hearing you say it.” Fingon glanced at the entrance, and seeing that they were still alone raised himself on his toes to brush their mouths together. “My beautiful betrothed, my melda heru. How I love thee.” They turned slowly, adding small steps to their movements, and Fingon rested his head against Maedhros’ chest. “This is nice. Nicer than I expected for Turko’s party.”

"No one's broken anything yet, and no one has been hurt. I dare say he might be disappointed," he huffed into Fingon's hair. "And I love you, too," he added, spinning Fingon slowly around the glade. "I am so grateful for you, and for this party, and this night, and you."

Fingon stayed in his arms for another song, and another. And then they pulled apart reluctantly at the sound of footsteps coming through the maze. Aredhel and Celegorm stepped (stumbled) into the clearing.

“There you are!” Aredhel spun through the grass, and found herself leaning against Maedhros. “I think you two owe us a dance. Party rules--you must dance with at least two people.” She held up two fingers in an attempt to be convincing.

Maedhros grinned, steadying his cousin. "Is that the rule?" he mused. "Even if it is technically my party?"

Aredhel shook her head. "Technically it's is _my_ party. I planned it. It is at _my_ house. It may be _for_ you, and Celegorm helped plan, and I suppose it's Findekáno's house as much as mine but--hic!" she hiccuped and giggled, covering her mouth and swaying, "--you all are incidental." She waved her arm dismissively, but Maedhros caught at it.

"Well argued. Am I to ask you for this dance, then? Or have you already asked me?" The music was faster now, an old tune they all knew. Maedhros wondered how Celegorm and Fingon would manage, but Aredhel and he knew the steps well enough.

The pace of the music picked up for the next song, and Celegorm and Fingon...managed. Celegorm placed Fingon’s arms around him, and they moved. Fingon laughed, unable to take his cousin seriously as Celegorm spun him around, then pulled him close, and halfway through the song went so far as to grind their hips together.

"I asked you to dance. And Nelyo?" she asked, blinking up at him with undue solemnity. "Fingon said I must apologize to you for not letting you tell Moro and Kano. I am rather drunk, which is the only reason I am doing this--well--no, not the only reason, because I want you to like me because I like your brother and my brother likes you. And. It's complicated. Am I slurring?"

Maedhros chuckled, spinning her slower than the music called for, as she looked unsteady. "Not at all," he lied. His brow wrinkled. "Why do you think I do not like you, Irissë?" he leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially in her ear: "You are the only one who can keep my idiot brother in line sometimes."

She giggled, then frowned, leaning up against him. "Is it all right that I'm drunk?"

Maedhros swallowed. "It is all right--as long as you stay safe--with family. Are you having a good time?"

"Yeah!" she cried. "You're a good dancer."

"I would like to dance with you again sometime. Would you like that?"

"Yes!" She broke form to hug Maedhros around his middle. "Thank you, Maitimo! Oh. You may want to stop Turko. If he keeps dancing like that on my brother, _I_ might go stop him, and if you don't want me to knit his pretty blonde hair into a girdle--"

Maedhros turned to see Celegorm dancing shamefully--with? on?--and his vision flared red. "TURKAFINWË!" he bellowed over the sound of the music. His brother had better be very drunk or very joking or he was going to be very dead.

Fingon realized that Celegorm was more than slightly intoxicated, and graciously allowed him to lead the dance. He was certain Celegorm was joking around, but he found himself imagining dancing like this for real with Maedhros. His lover never would--and yet, the idea of a body, taller and broader and stronger than Turko’s, moving against him in this way was… fairly intoxicating itself. Celegorm, unlike his imagined Maedhros, threatened, implied, and hinted while keeping a hand’s breadth of space between them in all questionable areas. And for that Fingon was quite grateful. It allowed him to throw himself into the flow of the music, smiling and laughing and quite enjoying this dance. Then Maedhros began yelling.

Celegorm stopped dancing, hands still on Fingon's waist, and his head spun to look at his older brother. Maedhros was moving towards them angrily, and his hands tightened briefly on Fingon's hips before he stepped away, raising his hands, placating. "Shh! Do you want everyone coming in here after us?" Despite being able to maintain rhythm and grace while performing rather unusual dancing moves, Celegorm swayed slightly as he tried to stand still. He placed a hand on one hip, and tried to glare. "What's wrong?"

"If you thought tonight of all nights was a time to test me, Turkafinwë, you have my full attention. I will ask you once to cease your shameless behavior and step away from my betrothed." All right, he certainly was drunk, because this should not be making him as angry as it was. Celegorm was only joking, wasn't he? But Fingon--Fingon looked--uncomfortable? Uncomfortable that Maedhros was butting in? Flushed and--and practically debauched? And that only made him flare up again with--it wasn't anger, it was jealousy--jealousy like cold fire (why couldn't _he_ make Fingon look like that?).

Fingon stared at Maedhros, unable to stop his fervent imaginings of his betrothed pulling him into his arms and guiding him and dancing with him as Celegorm did. He shook his head, trying to stop those thoughts--he already had so much, he dared not ask for more impossible things. “Russandol? He didn’t do anything--he never touched me. It’s _Turko_ , Russ. He wouldn’t do that to you, or to me. And I certainly wouldn’t allow it.” He stepped forward, needing some sort of contact with Maedhros, and grabbed his hand. “I am yours, remember?”

Celegorm stood back, no longer looking carefree and wild. He was caught somewhere between offended, hurt, and slightly amused as he watched his brother and his brother’s betrothed. So he stirred the pot a little, unable to help himself. “Exactly brother. I’m not going to _take_ him. From you. Besides, he just said that he’s yours--and you always share with us Nelyo. Why stop now?” He stepped forward, placing himself behind Fingon with hands bracketing his waist. “We have a dance to finish, if you don’t mind? Irissë is a wonderful partner, but I do think there’s something delightful about dancing with our beloved cousin Findekáno.”

Maedhros growled at his brother as he wrenched Fingon free and drew him to him. "I will thank you not to behave or speak in so disgusting a manner in reference to my betrothed," he said gruffly, ignoring Fingon for the moment. "Even if you are just trying to upset me, please think more carefully in the future before you offend both Irissë and I by your embarrassing actions," he said, calming somewhat only because Fingon was now in his possession. He ground his teeth. "Now I think we have all been away from the festivities long enough, and I suggest we return." He stepped back, allowing Celegorm and Aredhel to walk past him to the larger garden and out to the music and bright lights.

Fingon sank into Maedhros’ arms, unable to stop a contented exhale from escaping. “Really, Russ?” he asked with a huff of laughter. “He was trying to rile you--I think they think it’s funny to see their cool, collected Nelyafinwë begin to loose control.” He pressed himself against his lover. “Do you really want to rejoin the party? I suppose we can’t stay in here forever, but…”

"Yes," he growled, marching them back to the crowd. "I might _do_ something to you if we do not," he said, by way of explanation.

Maedhros had to consciously remind himself to uncurl his fingers and release Fingon as they came within sight of the other revelers. He poured himself a glass of water and drank the entire thing, using this moment to calm himself. Of course Celegorm was just trying to anger him--he just chose the most tactless way to do so, as he usually did.

"All right?" Caranthir said, stepping up behind him.

Maedhros sighed, not daring yet to raise his eyes to Fingon. "Yes. Except I almost punched Turko," he admitted.

"Join the club. That's me, like, every day," Caranthir replied, filling Maedhros' water glass with red wine and handing a glass to Fingon.

Fingon rolled his eyes, accepting the glass and drinking it quickly. “He was just trying to get a rise out of Nelyo. It wasn’t that bad. Though Russ? I’ll tell you one thing--your brother is a quite talented dancer.” Caranthir was in the middle of taking a sip of his own wine, and almost spit it out. He spent the next several seconds coughing and wheezing, looking between Maedhros and Fingon.

"Do not you test me, too," Maedhros groaned, giving Fingon a stern glare--and his brother, too, until he began to breathe normally again. "Or I will not show you how talented of a dancer _I_ can be."

"Whoa, okay, do I need to leave you two alone? I can leave you two alone," Caranthir said, backing away nervously as he picked up on the double entendre in his brother’s words.

Fingon leaned in to breathe his response in Maedhros’ ear for him alone. “Do you remember a few years ago when Irissë and Turko had heard the funniest way to change a statement--and they did this far too often- was to add ‘in bed’ to the end of it? Is that what you are suggesting here? Because, while I dare not think of you performing your brother’s style of dancing--at least not in public--for fear of how my body would betray me--considering the idea in passing I find it hard to believe you would do such a thing, even with me.”

Maedhros’ body thrummed with a new and strange (but not unwelcome) desire to pin Fingon against a wall and do things to him than Celegorm’s depravity could not conceive of. But he couldn’t: that was why he had returned them to the party. He let Caranthir wander off before he took hold of Fingon’s arm and bent down to promise in his ear: “Even though I _know_ that you are mine, and even though I _know_ my brother was only jesting, do not forget, and please do not take lightly, that the power you have over me removes thought, logic and propriety from me. You unmake me, Findekáno.” And then he smiled, and sighed, the tension running out of him, and his hand on Fingon’s arm gentled, going down to squeeze his hand briefly before letting go. “I do not enjoy jealousy—much less of my little brother—but in that moment I felt it keenly, and I will not forget it tonight—” the unsaid ‘in bed’ sparkled playfully in his grin as he tried to hide his own blush at himself behind a drink of wine.

Fingon moaned softly imagining what torments Maedhros would come up with in retaliation for teasing him so and imagining the slightly crazed look in his lover’s eyes earlier when he tore him away from Celegorm. “Careful, Russ, or there’s no way I’ll be able to stay out here with you.” He leaned close to his lover’s ear, lips brushing it as he spoke. “I know that you wouldn’t dance like that, melda, but know that I would dearly like to dance like that for you.” He squeezed Maedhros’ hand briefly, and moved back towards the larger group, picking up glasses and trying to move them onto empty tables.

Maedhros sucked in a breath, surprised at how much Fingon's words affected him, so it was with a start that he realized Fingon was ahead of him, and he hurried along behind. "We could take these inside," he shouted over the music, sweeping up empty glasses. How a party of thirty young elves could use every dish Nolofinwë's household owned was beyond him.

Fingon passed Aredhel and Celegorm, and the latter gave him a smirk and a half concealed thumbs up. Fingon rolled his eyes, but received the impression that Celegorm knew exactly what he had been doing earlier, and that their dance had been about Maedhros as much as it had been about him. A solid third of the Eldar were still dancing, while another large group sprawled in the lawn chatting. Slowly, a few swaying youths were making their way to their mounts to try to get home in time for a few hours sleep. He shook his head, turning back to Maedhros. "It may be safer that way--safer for the dishes at any rate." And he began to pile a selection together to drag back to the kitchen.

As they pushed the door mostly shut behind them, Maedhros shook his head as if to clear it. "I'm just waiting for Macalaurë to snap and make them turn the music down," he grinned, speaking probably too loudly, but it was hard to hear, and he set his load of empty dishes down before helping Fingon with his. "I think we can leave the washing up for tomorrow, though."

“Agreed. And thanks. And since Irissë and Turko are so certain that this is their party, I think they may need to be on the clean up detail for it.” Fingon glanced at Maedhros, then around the empty kitchen. Despite being unoccupied, it was one of the few areas in the house that could potentially see traffic this night. “Come with me for a minute?” he implored.

Maedhros pressed his lips together. "Ah--should we not be keeping an eye on the party?" he protested, but allowed Fingon to pull him further into the house.

“We’ll head back out shortly, and I saw Káno keeping an eye on things as we walked inside.” Fingon didn’t mention his cousin raising his glass in a toasting gesture as he spotted them walking towards the house. Fingon drew them into the library--it was nearby but was not an area that would be disturbed by any partiers who wandered inside. As he closed the door behind them, he pulled Maedhros to him, stepping back so that his cousin pinned him to the wall. “My betrothed.” He smiled up at him. “How I love saying that.”

Maedhros grinned, wrapping his arms around Fingon (the room had large windows, but the curtains were drawn). "I like hearing it," he answered, stealing a quick kiss and pressing closer to Fingon, placing his hand on the wall beside his cousin's head.

Fingon smiled, bringing his hand up to cup Maedhros’ cheek. His eyes flickered between his lover, and the bright ring resting on his finger. “Tell me, what else do you like hearing, Russ?”

Maedhros smiled shyly and looked down. "I like to hear you say you love me--almost as much as I like saying that I love you. I like my name on your lips. I like--I like to hear you put on an accent just for me, and--" here he grinned almost wickedly, "I like those soft little noises you make when I am driving you wild." With this he pressed even nearer, laying his other hand firmly on Fingon's shoulder, thumb resting against the side of his neck, and kissed him deeply, hungrily.

Fingon groaned, one leg rising to wrap around Maedhros’ hip. When the broke apart, gasping for breath, Fingon began to speak. “Russandol. My beautiful, bright Russandol.” He allowed his voice to move into the noble ‘accent’ Maedhros professed to like. “Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol. I love thee. With each breath, each heartbeat, each waking thought and sleeping dream, I love thee.”

Maedhros gasped for air as they parted, eyes dark with desire. "And I love thee, Findekáno Nolofinwion. More than breath, more than life, more than craft or land or light." His hand went down to hold Fingon's leg up, hitched as it was around the back of his thighs, and he pressed their brows together. "How I desire thee. How I wish our betrothal might somehow speed up the blooming of the trees and the passing of the seasons until we can be together. I--" He swallowed carefully, and kissed Fingon gently. "We should go back," he said almost sadly, but without force, and he did not move.

“I wish it as well, Russ. You are not alone in that.” With a last kiss Fingon guided him back gently with one hand so that he could slip out from between Maedhros and the wall. Maedhros turned to face him, his own back now to the wall. “Hmm, you are right, cousin, we should get back. But hardly think it would be proper for you to rejoin the festivities in your current state.” He looked up through his lashes. “Perhaps I can help?”

Fingon dropped to his knees gracefully, nuzzling at the front of Maedhros’ pants and mouthing over his straining arousal. He nosed against him, bracing his lover’s hips with his hands and pushing them back, pinning them to the wall Maedhros stood against. Then he returned to gently sucking on the damp material, tongue tracing over the fabric. Tilting his head up slightly he could see Maedhros watching him.

"Findekáno!" Maedhros cried in astonishment, though he did not exactly protest. "But--but what if--" he could almost reach the door from here--and straining, he locked it before looking down fondly at Fingon, running hands through his hair. "You tricked me," he huffed: "You know I will repay you later for this?" he teased, biting his lip to keep from moaning as he held Fingon's chin.

Fingon pulled away to answer him. “Counting on it.” He shifted his knees slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position as he strained against his breeches, and he reached out with slightly shaking hands to tug at the strings of Maedhros’ trousers. He paused for a few breaths, head resting against his lover’s hip, and realized he may have been drinking glasses of wine a bit too quickly a few minutes ago. Then his hands finished loosening the pants, and he shoved them down impatiently. Brushing a kiss across the tip, he pulled back, sitting on his calves and looking up at Maedhros, so far above him. Still focusing slightly to maintain his accent, he spoke. “May I? Please Maitimo Russandol, my dearest Russ, my melda heru, may I please you?”

"You already and always do, melda," Maedhros replied softly, steadying Fingon's head gently and slowly fed Fingon his sex, hissing in pleasure and almost cracking his head against the wall behind him. "Ahh, Finno," he said, panting, adjusting his height so Fingon wasn't straining. "I should--I should be doing this for--for you. You already gave me a gift today."

Fingon made a negative sound, which was lost but for the vibrations it caused. He shook his head the tiniest amount. He was exactly where he wished to be. He followed Maedhros’ guidance, moaning as his cousin moved his head and as he watched his lover’s already trembling form. One hand snuck up under Maedhros’ shirt, sliding across his torso. Fingers traced along the edges of toned muscles, feeling each shuddering breath and each quiver. Fingon’s other hand dropped to the fabric of his pants, palm pressing harshly against his own straining arousal. His groan was long and low and resulted in a new series of hitched breaths from Maedhros.

"Wait," Maedhros huffed. "Wait for me, don't--don't touch yourself, please," he begged. "I want to have you. Wait for me." His legs were trembling with the need to thrust, and he wanted to reach behind him for something to hold onto, but his hands scrabbled at books on shelves and hanging paintings. "Uhh, Finno. You feel so-- _so_ good," he groaned, laying a hand on Fingon's head to steady himself.

Fingon brought his hand up with a trembling exhale, gripping both of Maedhros’ hips tightly, steadying himself as much as Maedhros. He moaned, hips rocking back and forth despite his efforts to still them and was unable to stop the small noises now continuously escaping his lips. He reveled in his denial, and in being able to do this for Russ. He looked up at Maedhros, needing to see him--to watch. _Please_. His entire body hungered for Maedhros’ pleasure and his touches, for his words and his moans, for his warmth and his strength and his calimëhendu.

"Ahh--uhh," Maedhros moaned, rather indelicately, though he tried his best not to be too loud (though how could they be heard over the music?). "Close, Finno, I--I'm close, I--ai, Valar, you're so good, Finno, so good to me--" he whined, now holding Fingon's head firmly in his hands, needing to control him a bit.

The edges of Fingon’s mouth pulled tight in an attempt to smile. His hand founds its way back under Maedhros’ shirt ran up and down his flank soothingly. His other hand slid to the small of his back, encouraging Maedhros to thrust slightly. Fingon hummed deep in his throat, giving himself over to this experience, to Maedhros.

Ah, there it was, that slight rumble at just the right pitch that put him on the edge, and he was pulling Fingon into him, or himself into Fingon, and Fingon gagged and Maedhros almost toppled to the floor but he was over the edge now, finishing deep in Fingon's throat, where it was wet and tight and hot. And then Maedhros really was falling forward, and he had to steady himself against Fingon, to push back and fall against the wall, sliding down until he was face-to-face with Fingon and gasping for air, chest going like a bellows.

Fingon swallowed a final time, tongue darting out to trace his lips. He stared at Maedhros, panting. His mouth stayed partly opened and already he _missed_  the feel of Maedhros within him. Fingon lurched forward, pressing his mouth to his lover’s and leaning into him. He ached and he needed but at present he just wanted to steal away Maedhros’ breath before he could recover.

Maedhros pulled Fingon to him, kissing him deeply. He needed no air, no more than he needed Fingon. The feel of Fingon's slighter body up against his, in his lap, wrapped around him, pressed to him, was intoxicating. He wrapped an arm around his neck to better tuck Fingon in against his shoulder, pinning him, fingers brushing his cheek before they crept down, untying his tunic, baring him to the navel, and then his fingers wandered down further.

Fingon felt his body alternately relaxing because he was in Maedhros' arms, pleased with a task well accomplished and tensing with his present need. He sighed, allowing Maedhros to manipulate his body as he wished. "Russ!" He bit down on a moan. "Valar, Russ. What are you doing?" He had thought to make this brief--as Maedhros had been expressing a wish to return to the party. But now…now he would give in to whatever his lover had planned.

"Oh, we will be brief," Maedhros promised, as his hand wandered further down to palm at the front of Fingon's trousers, causing him to buck in his arms. "Hush now," he said, wrapping a strong arm around Fingon, pinning his arms to his chest, resting his head against Maedhros' shoulder. "Let me hear those soft noises I love so much." He smiled, stroking Fingon firmly through his trousers, and wrapping his legs around Fingon's legs so he could not much move.

“O-okay.” The word was a gasp, and he followed it with a slight whimper as Maedhros’ hand moved. He pressed against Maedhros’ shoulder, nuzzling into the curve of his neck. Fingon carefully unclenched his jaw and allowed his body to make what noise it would. “Russ--oh Valar, Russ!” He could barely move even as his body demanded it, and as Maedhros touched him he had no choice but to accept the touches exactly as they were given. “Ruusss!”

"Mm, yes," Maedhros whispered, "call me that. I like to hear you say that." His hand worked in slow, pressing circles against Fingon's sex, which was still trapped and straining in his trousers. Every twitch and whine and moan Fingon gave made his heart all the warmer, where he thought he could not become no happier. "Tell me, Finno, how does that feel?" he asked, kissing his sweating temple.

“Unnh! Feels--feel--Russ!” Fingon felt the world spinning and words slipping out of his grasp as he tried to find them. “Good,” he managed to grunt. “Feels good. Need--need more so it hurts good.” His head lolled against Maedhros’ shoulder and his pinned hands tried to move, to grasp at any bit of Maedhros they could. Fingon bit his lip almost hard enough to bleed.

"Shh, shh," Maedhros cooed, turning Fingon's face into his chest. "Bite me if you need to," he said, his hand tightening around Fingon's sex. "I want you to spend for me. All bound up like this in your trousers. Can you do that for me, Fingon? So that I might do this to you anytime, anywhere, with people almost watching? You would have to pretend to be calm and cool while I was petting you like this. Who would know, do you think?" His breath was hot against Fingon's ear.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” Fingon shuddered and twitched and trembled. He jerked into Maedhros’ hand, and let out a loud moan. A tiny part of his mind took the time to pray that no one had ventured into the house, as he was being anything but discrete. “Please, Russ! Yes, yours--anytime. Valar, Russ!” He turned his face into Maedhros’ shoulder, taking his invitation and biting down on the solid muscle. Maedhros’ continued to tease him, and Fingon was certain he would have toppled over if not for Maedhros’ firm, binding limbs. “Anytime, every time--don’t you know that you already affect me?” He pressed his forehead to Maedhros’ cheek. “Who do you think I--I was dreaming of, while dancing with--” Fingon cut off with a whimper as Maedhros’ squeezed him warningly.

"Never mind," Maedhros shushed him, almost stern now. "I do not want to hear you speak any name but mine just now, anyhow." He pressed down hard, until he heard a whimper of pain, and released his hold before returning to firm, quick strokes. "You're going to come for me. It doesn't matter who is watching. It only matters that I am touching you, that I love you, that I want to feel you come undone in my hands. I've got you, Finno."

Fingon’s hips stuttered at the imagine Maedhros conjured and the demand he presented. “Russ!” The word itself was a whimper, and Fingon was not sure the strokes of his hand were any kinder than the harsh pressure. “Russ, Russ, Russ!” The name was a chant, and the only thing left to say. It was a plea and an acknowledgement--a reminder that it was Maedhros, who Fingon wanted and needed. He bit down on Maedhros’ shoulder, hard, as he body curled against him, desperate to get closer, to have more contact. He ended with a whimper and a shudder, sweaty face pressed to Maedhros’ skin as he collapsed against his cousin.

Maedhros gasped along with Fingon as he finished. "Ahh, that's good, good, good," he said, hushing Fingon as he panted, shivering against him. He needed to pull his own trousers up, but he was perfectly content to just hold Fingon like this, stroking him through his orgasm until Fingon began to whine at the overstimulation. "I love you. I love you so much. So good, you're so good for me," he said, wrapping both arms around Fingon and covering his face with gentle kisses, pulling him closer.

Fingon kept his eyes closed, oversensitive and afraid of his body’s reaction to seeing his lover. Slowly his breathing steadied, and he released a huff of laughter. “You know, we were supposed to stay clean Russ. All _you_ have to do is pull up your trousers and you’ll look perfectly immaculate as usual.” He managed to free his arms, and draped them around his cousin, leaning heavily against him. One hand brushed a stray hair from Maedhros’ face before winding behind his neck. “Well, at least I’ll have some lovely memories tied to libraries from now on. I think studying in here is about to become difficult for some reasons I had never before considered.”

Maedhros smiled as he pulled Fingon unsteadily to his feet. He kept one arm around his cousin while he pulled his trousers up with the other, and before Fingon had recovered he was already feeling the front of his trousers. "I think you look all right--and no one but me should be touching you near enough to feel it. Are you ready to go back to the party?" He asked.

Fingon whined, eyes widening as he stared at Maedhros. “Russ?” He shifted and bit his lip, considering the uncomfortable slide of his trousers and what his lover was asking of him. It was late and dark and everyone else (except, perhaps Maglor) was more than slightly intoxicated. “If you want--“ he shuffled slightly, trying to grow accustomed to the wet, sticky slide, “then I shall try to get through the rest of the night.” Fingon stilled himself. He closed his eyes and tilted his head to the ceiling taking deep, steady breaths. His relaxed and slid his gaze to Maedhros. “But Russ--I cleaned up the mess I had you make. And I cleaned it up _very_ well. I hope you have the decency to do the same.” He smiled a little, hesitantly, as he added his own twist to what they were doing. “If you want to wait a few hours until we have the house to ourselves to do so, then so be it.”

"So you did, so you did," Maedhros grinned, feeling a powerful and pleasant rush at Fingon's acquiescence, and pulled him close. "And I will return the favor, I promise you. Until then, I want to know if you enjoy this little predicament as much as I do." He waggled his eyebrows playfully before pulling at the door handle.

Fingon left the room carefully, trying to keep his steps even and casual. He was fully aware that Maedhros was studying him as he walked a few paces behind. “I suppose we should try to get as many glasses and bottles as we can inside. Irissë and Turko can deal with them in the morning. And we should probably reclaim any unopened casks before they get opened.” Fingon yawned. “It’s already quite late.”

"Agreed," Maedhros said loudly, for already it was getting difficult to hear Fingon with the music. As they made their way outside, Maglor stopped them, grinning rather like an idiot, as if he had already had a great deal more to drink--or that he knew (or suspected) something. He was certainly enjoying himself, swaying to the music. "How goes it, brother? Cousin?" he asked loudly, and pursed his lips as if to keep from grinning.

Maedhros ignored the implication. "I thought you hated Turko's music," he accused.

"Oh, wait, what?" Maglor said, tipping his head to one side and pulling out what looked like a wad of cotton. "What did you say?" He shouted, now louder, and wincing.

Maedhros laughed and waved him off. "Never mind."

Fingon smiled broadly, and his laughter was audible over the music. “You are wonderful, Káno--never change!” He slid an arm around Maedhros’ waist and leaned against him. “This is why I love your family,” he pointed out to Maedhros before turning back to Maglor. “Are you enjoying the dancing at least? Thank you for keeping an eye on things earlier. And have you seen Turko or Irissë lately?”

Maglor nodded, but was already, if apologetically, forcing the cotton back into his ears. "They're over by the fountain with most of the others." He pointed. "I'm giving them five minutes to start dancing again before I break those crystals." He poured himself the last of a random bottle of wine.

Maedhros grinned at his brother, and looking around realized that most of the still-conscious elves were gathered on the far side of the large decorative fountain, where they were blocked from the music and seemed to be talking amongst themselves.

Deciding something very suddenly, Maedhros held his hand out to Fingon. "Dance?" he asked quickly, before he could change his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

 Previously:

_Maedhros grinned at his brother, and looking around realized that most of the still-conscious elves were gathered on the far side of the large decorative fountain, where they were blocked from the music and seemed to be talking amongst themselves._

_Deciding something very suddenly, Maedhros held his hand out to Fingon. "Dance?" he asked quickly, before he could change his mind._

* * *

 

Fingon’s head snapped toward him, and he wondered for a moment if he were the Elda with cotton in his ears. “With you?” he blurted. “I mean--yes! Of course!” He grabbed Maedhros’ hand before Maedhros had a chance to withdraw the invitation. And if Fingon squeezed a little too hard, no one else would ever know. Suddenly dancing to this music--faster music, though not exactly what he had danced with Celegorm to, seemed both exhilarating and terrifying. What if Maedhros didn’t enjoy it (him)? What would his lover allow him to do? And on the patio, with the light of several crystals passing over the area, what if the clinging of his trousers became apparent? It was too dark for that, even with the lights, but still the thought sent a shiver both of humiliation and excitement through him. “How do you want me, Russ? Like we were dancing in the garden, or…?”

Maedhros pulled Fingon to him, tightly, brazenly, wine-brave. "I care not, so long as you are dancing with _me_." He said, leaning down to whisper hot in Fingon's ear. "No one is watching, and if they are they are too drunk to care, and if they care I give not a whit for them. Just dance with me, my betrothed, here, under the stars, on this perfect night." Here he lowered his voice dangerously: "And if I felt the moisture from your trousers on me, I would hardly complain."

Fingon dropped his head gently against his cousin’s shoulder as their bodies found a common rhythm. This was…this was so much better than being in Turkafinwë’s arms (no offense to his cousin). Maedhros was taller than him, and broader in the shoulders. And his arms, though gentle, were so very strong. And more than that, this was Russ. Fingon wrapped his arms around Maedhros, moving against him. As the beat of the music increased he felt the firm pressure of Maedhros’ thigh between his legs and his head fell back, baring his neck to Maedhros. His hands tightened their grip on his cousin, and he let out a feeble moan though it was lost to the pulsing sound of the current song.

Maedhros huffed, his grin showing all his teeth, and his eyes glinting hungrily. He thought to look around him, to make sure no one was watching closely, but in truth he did not care, not in the slightest: he would pay almost any price to see Fingon moving so wantonly against him. "Ah, you're beautiful like this," he said, but he wasn't sure he said it aloud or that Fingon could hear him if he had. He felt Fingon twitch in interest against him, and he was warm and damp and his body lithe and sweaty. Fingon was a very good dancer (though he had not learned these moves from court tutors or dance instructors).

Fingon noticed Maedhros’ straying gaze. He glanced around, before leading them a short distance away so that they were hidden from any wayward gazes behind a large tree. He wished he had though to take the bottle of wine Maglor had appropriated. Still, he leaned up to kiss Maedhros, then spun in his lover’s arms so that his back was tight to Maedhros’ chest, his lover’s hips flush against him. He raised an arm, winding it around Maedhros’ neck. His other arm brought his cousin’s around his waist and rested atop it. Then, trying what he had seen many of Celegorm’s drunken and wanton peers doing, he ground his hips back against his lover in a deliberate circular movement.

Maedhros hissed, pulling back in surprise before he realized how _good_ this felt: not just the immediate rise it got out of him, but simply in terms of dancing unashamedly and physically with his one love. He breathed deep of the scent of his hair, pulling him so close he hardly had room to maneuver. It made Maedhros feel alive in a manner he had never experienced. And soon he began to move, too, his eyes sliding shut.

Fingon felt the moment Maedhros relaxed into him, into this. He smiled, his own eyes drifting shut. His hand squeezed Maedhros’, and he could have shouted with joy as he felt the Elda begin to move against him and guide his movements. His head fell back on Maedhros’ shoulder, a comfortable spot he quite liked, as they danced together in the starlight for the second time that evening. The last time had been slow and romantic and elegant. This time they alluded to a different type of dance that both Eldar yearned for. Fingon turned his head to the side, mouthing at Maedhros’ neck.

Maedhros hunched over so that his body was over and around Fingon's, enveloping and embracing him, both arms around his core. He sighed audibly as Fingon kissed him, and he almost did not care if it left a mark. Indeed, he almost wanted it to. They slid against one another in time to the music like they were in fact made for each other, each perfectly aware of and familiar with the other's body. "You feel so good," Maedhros hissed. "Finno, I--"

Just as Maedhros felt himself about to lose his mind with desire, the song ended. There was suddenly a loud crash and an unconvincing "Oops," from Maglor.

Fingon stilled against Maedhros and giggled. “Real subtle, there. Your brother certainly has a delicate hand, Russ.” He realized he had been breathing quite heavily, and set to steadying himself and preparing to face the rest of the night. “I suppose we had best go help clean up,” he sighed.

Telperion was waning and the party was drawing to a close--a good thing, if Celegorm was disappointed and Caranthir nearly got into a fight with Maglor about his music crystal until Maglor promised to repair it. The Finwions made certain that every elf found their way home (the horses at least were not drunk, and most of the attendees returned to many of the same houses) and cleaned up most of the garden before stumbling toward bed. Celegorm had already disappeared with Irissë, while Maglor and Caranthir took guest bedrooms.

"Nice hickey," Caranthir noted before he shut the door to his room.

As Maedhros' hand flew to the side of his neck, he and Fingon were suddenly alone. 

Fingon grabbed a loose sheet of paper to detail cleanup duties for Irissë and Celegorm, and set it on top of ‘her’ glass in the kitchen after filling it with water for her come morning. Taking a last look around, he brushed his hands down the front of his pants and turned to Maedhros. “I think I ought to be heading to bed. Would you care to join me?”

Maedhros flushed slightly. "I thought the invitation was already implied," he said, turning out the lights and following Fingon to bed. "Here, wait," he said, tugging at Fingon and holding up a glass of water. "Drink this," he whispered. "You had far too much to drink tonight, and you may have burned it off now, but--just drink."

He took the glass with a smile, drinking it quickly and refilling it once. “Thank you.” After finishing the second glass and refilling it again he offered the drink to Maedhros. “Should you have some as well? You…haven’t seemed entirely yourself this evening.”

"I've been drinking water," Maedhros said. "You forget _I_ taught my brothers how to party," he added with a snort, but he drank anyway, and refilled the glass to take back with them. As they walked down the long hall to Fingon's room, Maedhros took his hand, fingering the ring Fingon still wore. "Did you enjoy tonight?"

“I cherish any time spent with you.” Fingon squeezed Maedhros’ hand briefly. “My betrothed, my melda heru--let me see…you accepted my ring, your brothers approve of this match, you engaged in semi-public activities with me--even if you were asking a lot of me at the end, my pants are quite uncomfortable I’ll have you know--and you danced with me and against me despite their being others nearby. I don’t think ‘enjoy’ or ‘like’ come close to my feelings for tonight.” He leaned against Maedhros as the walked. “And you, melda? Did you enjoy tonight? And if so, what was your favorite part of it?”

"Ah, yes, I almost forgot," Maedhros said as they approached the door (though of course he had not forgotten): "We will of course need to get you out of that mess," he vowed with a gleam in his eye. "You speak for me when you say any time spent with you is cherished--and if it does not sound too boring of me, my first sight of you with that box in your hand was my favorite part." He considered a moment. "Though, if pressed, the look you gave me in the library when I first said we should return to the party with you in your current state was a close second."

Fingon blushed and shook his head. "You have no idea how uncomfortable it is to wander around in this state," he muttered, followed by something unintelligible about chafing. He closed the door to his rooms after they had entered and locked it. Immediately moving to the windows in the bedchamber he drew heavy blackout drapes, desiring unimpeded rest when they fell asleep. Lighting a few candles in the chamber, he made his way back to Maedhros, standing before him.

"Mm, I think you might have liked it a bit," Maedhros countered, brushing his hand between Fingon's legs. "I saw you blushing."

Fingon felt his body stir at the brief touch. “Every time I moved and most of the time standing still I was aware of what you had done to me--I was wearing the results of your work on my skin.” He looked down. “And perhaps I liked knowing that you knew and liked that. I enjoyed doing something that you had clearly been thinking about and that you wanted me to do for you.” Fingon blinked heavy eyelids. “I need to get into bed before I topple over, Russ. Shall we?”

Maedhros nodded, pushing Fingon softly to the bed on his back, following atop him, still pressing at Fingon's trousers--now thoroughly soaked through--as he kissed him. "I believe I owe you something yet. Then you can sleep," he murmured, fingers unclasping Fingon's belt. Then, with a swift, fluid movement, he drew Fingon's trousers down and off his body, throwing them in a pile on the floor, leaving him bare and sticky and glistening. It looked filthy.

Maedhros had never wanted anything more.

Fingon nodded, allowing Maedhros to strip him. He was sweaty from their dance in the yard, and felt that he was, all over, a fairly horrific mess. He ran his fingers through Maedhros’ hair (still perfect--it really was not remotely fair). “Only if you want,” he whispered.

Maedhros decided to show instead of tell (if he thought that much at all), descending on Fingon with his mouth. He began by sucking Fingon into his mouth, bringing him to half-hardness before licking the surrounding region. It was cold and unappetizing and even beginning to dry in places, but he could not have stopped for anything. It still tasted of Fingon, it still was Fingon, it marked Fingon's indulgence of him. The filth of it was what tasted so good. He laid his hands firmly on Fingon's hips, stroking his flanks gently, soothingly, and once Fingon was entirely clean he swallowed him down again, tongue working to rouse him fully.

Fingon cupped Maedhros’ head with one hand--not guiding, just touching, as his lover began to work him. He sighed, legs spreading slightly, and his other hand came up to grasp the pillow behind his head. “Ruuusssss.” Heat began to rise in him both from Maedhros’ actions and from the realization of what his lover was condescending to do. He moaned, quietly, as his body strove to stay awake, to focus on his lover’s actions and on how his cousin looked between his legs.

Maedhros pulled back enough to speak, stroking Fingon with his hand instead. "I've got you, Finno. I'll take care of you." He licked a long stripe up Fingon's stomach now, tongue flicking briefly into his navel, before he continued licking up Fingon's chest (he pushed his shirt out of the way, shoved it up and over his head as he went) before stopping at his neck, lathing along his throat until he finally, finally reached Fingon's mouth, and kissed him filthily. "I love you," he gasped when they parted. "I loved every second of tonight. I love this now."

Groaning, Fingon chased Maedhros’ mouth, claiming another kiss from him. “Love you. Love this, too.” Fingon let go of the pillow, hand dropping and skimming over Maedhros’ body now that his cousin was higher on the bed. He worked at the lacing on Maedhros’ shirt, wanting nothing more than to take the closest knife and cut the garment off of him. When it hung loose about him he lowered his had further, skimming across his stomach and abdomen until finally his fingers brushed the edge of Maedhros’ trousers. His fingers ran along the line of skin and cloth, and every few seconds would dip below, brushing across hidden skin.

"No, no, Finno, I want you," he said, catching Fingon's wrist, drawing his hand up and kissing it. "Let me have you this night. I want to taste you, I want to drink you dry, Findekáno, and then I want to hold you while you drift to sleep and be there when you awake." He kissed him once more before sliding back down Fingon's body, returning to his task--nay, his desire, hands and mouth both working together to bring Fingon to completion.

“You _have_ me,” Fingon assured. “I am yours, as--as--” he trailed off into hitched breaths following by a long moan that felt as though it was torn from him as Maedhros took him unexpectedly deep. “Ah! Russ!” He could barely think, floating adrift in the pleasurable haze Maedhros was causing. And Maedhros--perfect, loving Russ--feasted on him as one starving. “Russ?” He bit his lip on a whimper as his lover paused, but tired as he was--and as likely as he was to fall asleep as soon as Maedhros finished, he did not want to leave his lover needing and unsatisfied. “You have me,” he whispered. “But don’t you also want--shouldn’t I also…?”

Maedhros shook his head, grunting a “No. Your pleasure is my pleasure, Finno. Just give it to me, and I will be content,” before ducking back to his task. He may have once or twice bared his teeth, may have once or twice scraped them across Fingon’s sensitive flesh, and his hands may have wandered over Fingon’s spit-slicked skin, but his eyes focused on the plane of Fingon’s neck where he threw his head back and moaned his name.

“Ah--ah, ah--“ Fingon panted, finally bringing his head down to look at Maedhros, and groaning at the picture. His lover’s mouth was slick with spit and fluids, and his hair fell past his shoulders in damp clumps. His eyes were bright, however, his cheeks flushed with exertion, and his lips looked bruised and swollen. “As you wish. Yours--always yours, Russ.” He stroked Maedhros’ cheek and then his hair, breathing loudly. “All of me.” He met his cousin’s eyes, and then fell back onto the bed as his entire body quivered at the look Maedhros gave him.

It was not the taste Maedhros had much interest in as Fingon spent with a loud cry, but his passion, his writhing body, his mindless desire--and Maedhros' ability to create this in him--was what tasted so incredible. He swallowed him down, pumping his hand even as he Fingon finished and fell back, wrung out and twitching weakly. When he was still, Maedhros crept back up to hold him, laying sloppy kisses over his neck and chest and face like brickwork. 

Fingon trembled, feeling impossibly loved as Maedhros continued to kiss him and touch him, reveling in Fingon’s exhausted body. “Melda, meldameldamelda-” Though his arms felt weighted down, Fingon succeeded in lifting one and settling it around Maedhros’ back. Everything around them was quiet, and Maedhros was gentle and constant and deliberate as he moved across him. “Tired, Russ,” he whispered. “Want to sleep in your arms.”

"That's good," Maedhros whispered, pulling back and brushing hair back from Fingon's sweaty brow, "because that was the plan whether you willed or no. I do not think I could sleep were I not holding you tonight," he said, and pressed a final kiss to Fingon's temple. He wriggled a moment, divesting himself of most of his clothes before sliding them beneath the covers and gathering Fingon to his arms. "Comfortable?" he checked.

“Mhmm.” Fingon yawned, then tucked himself into Maedhros’ chest and nodded against him. “With you. ‘s pefect.” He yawned again, and snuggled into Maedhros until he felt surrounded by him. “Love you, Russandol. So very much.”

“Inyë tye-méla," Maedhros whispered, breath ghosting over Fingon's cheek, stirring his hair as he curled tighter around him. He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment, enjoying Fingon's skin against his, enjoying the flush of the wine that Fingon would regret in the morning and that Maedhros would second-guess in the morning. For now, he was perfectly content, and slowly sleep pulled at him until he was wrapped in darkness and sleep.

Fingon smiled at his lover’s declaration and at the physical attempt to pull him closer. He smiled, tucked in against a warm, strong form, and without realizing it drifted into sleep. Even asleep, he clung to his lover and fought to keep them entangled together as he rested with Maedhros in his own bed--something that in and of itself was a fantasy he had held dear for years.

Fingon edged into consciousness as he pulled the covers over his head and pressed his hands to his ears, trying to quell the horrific pounding beating a steady cadence on the inside of his skull. He winced, and curled into something resembling a fetal position. Then he lay as still as possible, hoping the world would just Stop if he refused to acknowledge it.

Maedhros was partially awake, if exhausted, but trying to savor this time with Fingon in his arms, watching him sleep peacefully. When Fingon groaned out loud and curled up, however, he could not help but chuckle, and he crept up behind Fingon to kiss the back of his neck. "Melda," he said softly, "all right?"

“G’morn’n ‘mmoina.” Fingon winced as he spoke and flinched underneath the covers. “Please don’t talk so loud,” he added in a near silent whisper. “And I’ll love you forever if you could make the hammering stop and the birds be quiet.” He tried to wet his lips as his voice cracked, but his tongue felt large and dry and he was unable to even swallow at the moment. “Is there a glass of water handy--ow, my head.” He clutched at his skull with greater force.

"Yes, it's here," Maedhros said. "And I'm sorry I cannot stop the pounding in your own head or the birds from singing. But there might be other remedies." He reached across to the table for the cup of water. "Here you are. Drink up. You may feel ill but you probably won't be sick." He huffed. "This is your first hangover, isn't it?"

Fingon sat up slowly. “My first request this morning and you fail me utterly,” he grumbled, taking the glass and sipping carefully. He blinked up at Maedhros sadly. “I don’t know that I ever want to drink again. This is horrid.”

"Good, it's not good for you," Maedhros said, holding Fingon steady. "Finish this, I'll go get you some more. And then we'll try to go back to sleep. How does that sound?" Maedhros tried, pulling Fingon against him.

“’s good. Just leave the lights off, please.” He curled into Maedhros, one hand moving to press against his forehead. “Thanks, Russ.”

"You're very welcome. We'll get you sorted soon enough." As Fingon finished the glass, Maedhros kissed each eyelid before taking the glass and laying Fingon back to bed, tucking him in and propping a pillow over his eyes. "I'll be right back," he said quietly, slipping out into the hall. There he found Maglor and Caranthir already up and raiding the kitchen.

"Oh. We were going to be on our way. Where do they keep the food in this house?" Caranthir demanded.

Maedhros opened the larder for his younger brother and turned to Maglor: "I could use the help hangover-babysitting," he admonished playfully.

"Oh, you know, Maitimo, I have, ah, you know, to wash my--um--hair," Maglor offered, equally sarcastic.

"If you make breakfast, I'll stay," Caranthir offered, and Maglor nodded.

"Ha. You drive a hard bargain. Fine. I'll be right back." Filling a glass, he walked down the hall back to Fingon's room.

Fingon rolled over when Maedhros’ left, sprawling in the warm spot he left behind. He smiled slightly despite the pounding in his head. After a minute he grabbed his own pillow, cover his face with it and pulling the covers up high. He began counting his steady breaths and hoping the world would drift away again, at least until Maedhros returned. And by the time Maedhros had, he was more than half asleep at the bottom of a warm, soft pile of blankets and pillows, snuggled into Maedhros’ side of the bed.

When he returned, Maedhros did not have the heart to wake Fingon, not even just to drink water. Instead he slid back into bed behind him, arms going instinctively around him, and just rested for a few minutes, breathing in Fingon's scent, memorizing the way he felt.

Fingon smiled, on the verge of consciousness, as Maedhros’ arms wrapped around him, pulling him against a firm chest. Slowly, he eased awake again, hands wrapping around the arms that encircled him. “My beautiful betrothed,” he murmured. “You are a balm for all ills--I think my head is slightly better just having you wrapped around me.”

"I'm glad," Maedhros said, "because I want you to drink more water. And then, if you like, I can take you into the kitchen where I will make breakfast--I know you don't believe me, but eating food will help. Or I can bring you breakfast in bed, a bit later on. What would you prefer? Moryo is quite hungry and might barge in here demanding food if I don't leave voluntarily."

Thinking of bacon and sausage and eggs Fingon thoroughly regretted the very idea of food, and found his stomach clenching in an unsettled response. “Umm… here, please? I don’t need breakfast, though. Maybe just a piece of dry toast?” That should be safe. Fingon pulled himself up, leaning against the headboard and accepting the water from Maedhros. “I feel horrible,” he said quietly, and rested his chin on Maedhros’ shoulder. “Russ--why hasn’t someone created a cure for this? Or wine that won’t cause it? I’m sure your father _could_ if he wished to…”

"He won't until Tyelko learns his lesson, I think," Maedhros said, kissing Fingon sweetly. "If you think you can eat--for me--I know you will feel better," he tried once more. "But I can bring it back if you'd like to sleep longer."

“I think I will be sick if I even smell sausage.” Fingon grimaced and brought a hand to his stomach at the thought. “But I’m not sure I can bear to be parted from you, my betrothed.” His hand played across Maedhros’ skin delicately, exploring and enjoying the warm contours. He sighed. “Do we have to go? I suppose so, but I’ll miss this. I think I sleep much better with you, melda.” Maedhros’ squeezed him gently, and Fingon smiled. He raised his head suddenly with a thought. “Don’t go cleaning up from the party when we get there--that’s Irissë and Turko’s responsibility. You shouldn’t have to bother with it.” He nodded, point made, and opted to relax until Maedhros forced them to get out of bed.

Maedhros bundled Fingon into the top comforter and drew him into his arms. "Shall we, my betrothed?" he asked, lifting Fingon from the bed and standing. "Just shut your eyes. It's only Moryo and Káno up now, they'll be quiet for us. And no sausage. A bit of bacon might help, but if you don't want it I won't force you to eat it." He worked the door open with his foot and brought Fingon down the hall to the kitchen, where his brothers cooed at the display.

"I'm not sure if that's baby-cute, or romantic-cute..." Caranthir said, and then frowned. "And I think that freaks me out."

"Hush, Morifinwë. Our brother already has enough hangups about being a cradle-robber," Maglor added playfully.

"You shut your mouths," Maedhros shot back. "Or I'll poison your breakfast." He sat Fingon on the counter nearest him and handed him a glass of water. "Also draw the curtains, please."

Fingon wanted nothing more than to curl back around Maedhros' warm frame. Instead he huddled in the comforter, refusing to be bothered by his cousins’ gentle teasing. “Thank you,” he said quietly, accepting the glass. The water was cool, and he leaned the glass against his forehead, enjoying the soothing feel of it. “I’m sorry, Russ--I should be making breakfast today, but…” he shrugged. If he were cooking they would not be eating for a good few hours. He looked over at Maglor. “And I am _not_ a baby, Kánafinwë. If you want to complain about the indiscretions of youth, I suggest you go find your brother and my sister and harangue them for a while.”

"Noooo thank you," Maglor said, just as Caranthir interrupted: "I already tried, and what I saw--cannot be unseen!" He shuddered dramatically.

Maedhros chuckled and moved about the kitchen, washing and cutting fruit first, some of which he put into a small dish and brought to Fingon before Caranthir devoured it all. "Here," he said, gently nudging at Fingon's lips with a piece of melon. "It's good." Also he rather liked hand-feeding Fingon, even if everyone was watching.

Fingon ate the fruit, finding that it did not unsettle his stomach. And as he ate the next piece, he pointedly ignored the others in the room and allowed his tongue to swipe across Maedhros’ fingers teasing, promising. Caranthir started to open his mouth as Fingon finished swallowing, but Fingon beat him, raising an eyebrow at his younger cousin. “Be glad it was only Irissë and Turko that you felt the need to walk in on.” And he left the ambiguous statement at that. 

Maedhros flushed and withdrew his hand. "I assure you the scene was entirely platonic, if you had," he said, at least half-convincingly, as he set about making biscuits. "Before you ask, Carnister, I'm not making sausage today and I'm certainly not making gravy. Egg sandwiches, I think, with mild cheese, and perhaps a bit of tomato and mushroom for those of us with braver stomachs." He eyed Fingon to see if that was all right.

“I suppose it was…this morning,” Fingon muttered at Maedhros’ protestation. He spent half a minute imaging the outcome had Maglor or Caranthir walked in on them either time last night. Then he groaned as his ears picked up the mention of sausage and gravy and quickly took a sip of water, hoping to settle his stomach. Perhaps it would be better out than in and he should just get it over with? But he had no desire to make such a fool of himself in front of his cousins. “And more melon, please?” he asked as Maedhros looked over at him, smiling sweetly.

Rolling his eyes but letting this slide, even if Maglor and Caranthir were giggling helplessly, he dished out more fruit for his cousin. "All right. Maglor, brew some tea," he said, "and Caranthir, get clean dishes down from that cabinet there. Thank you," he said, mixing batter quickly and slapping it onto trays to make savory biscuits. While the oven heated, he warmed a skillet and began chopping vegetables and cracking eggs.

Maglor winked at Fingon as he passed him, and Fingon felt himself blush. He burrowed deeper into the comforter, playing with the soft edges of the fabric. He sighed, leaning his head in his hands as smell of fresh food began to permeate the kitchen. “Need me to do anything?” he asked softly.

"No," Maedhros said, leaning over for a quick kiss. "Just sit there looking adorably pathetic as an example to us all," he teased. "Your parents--they aren't supposed to be back--?" he fiddled nervously with the ring on his finger.

Fingon pouted at his first answer, but laughed at the question half-asked. “Three days before father and Turukano return; two weeks before mother is due back--else I would have never agreed to the party.” Fingon watched Maedhros play with his ring, and realized he had been absently brushing his own. He smiled at Maedhros, wetting his lips as the others continued to move about the kitchen.

Catching Fingon staring, Maedhros bit his lip, wanting nothing more than to reach out and ravage that mouth. But still shy in front of his brothers (and anyway unwilling that they should learn the extent of their intimacy) he refrained, turning back to the stove. "Over easy for Carnister, over hard for Maglor, and--" as he slid the eggs one by one onto waiting buns, "A perfectly formed cheese omelet for my dear cousin," he finished, laying out tomatoes, fried mushrooms, and cheese on the appropriate sandwiches (it was mere formality to ask how they liked their eggs at this point).

Fingon waited until the others grabbed the plates and headed in to the dining area. He stretched out his arms, and looked at Maedhros pleadingly. When he was safely ensconced in his cousin’s arms once more, glass of water in one hand as they made their way into the dining room, he leaned up, mouth next to his cousin’s ear. “Dear cousin? It that what I am to you, my beautiful betrothed?”

"You are," Maedhros whispered in his ear, "and more besides. You are cousin, friend, lover, betrothed, chosen-brother, heart, light and life. Do you begrudge any of these titles?" he asked as he set Fingon down at the table and returned swiftly with his food.

Fingon grabbed his arm as he set Fingon’s plate down, holding him back a moment. “Never,” he said lowly but clearly. “How could I, when you are everything to me?”

"Okay, you two, knock it off," Carantir said. "Some of us are trying to eat."

Maedhros eyed his brother carefully before turning and kissing Fingon full on the mouth.

Fingon’s eyes opened wide in shock, but the rest of his body reacted instinctively. Dropping the comforter, he reached out to thread one hand through Maedhros’ hair, pressing his mouth against his lover’s with a groan and flicking his tongue across Maedhros’ lips.

Maglor laughed and flushed in delight, while Caranthir over-exaggerated his disgust. So when Maedhros broke the kiss, at least both of his brothers had shut up. Grinning like a fool, he returned to the kitchen for his own plate, and also the teapot. "Now I know you feel sick, but just eat," Maedhros told Fingon, pouring him a cup of tea and sliding his chair close enough to hover effectively.

Fingon smiled, and brought up a hand to hide his grin as he nodded in agreement. He took a sip of the tea first, and then tried the smallest bite of his omelet. He paused for a moment, and it settled, and he took another bite. Looking up he saw all three of the Fëanoreans watching him, and given that he was with family he forewent propriety to throw a particularly rude gesture at the younger two before turning back to his food. “Thank you, Russ. This is perfect, as always.”

"Behave," Maedhros scolded, but more as an excuse to lay his hand over Fingon's. "And you're welcome. See if you feel better after you finish that. The tea will help with the headache."

“It already is.” Fingon set down the sandwich and continued to sip at his tea, gently squeezing Maedhros’ fingers. “Are you two taking Turko back with you? And what are your plans for the day?”

"I wasn't planning on waiting past midday to get home, so unless I tied him still sleeping and still naked to the back of my horse--no," Maglor said, with a bit of apology. "I did have a piece I was working on at home I wanted to get back to--"

"As did I," Caranthir said. "But I suppose we could wait for him." As he realized what Fingon was asking. "I _suppose_ we could invite Irissë along as well. Mother loves her."

“Not if it’s a bother,” Fingon said with a smile that turned into more of a grimace. “But while my head’s pounding like this I’m not sure I’m up to dealing with both Turko and Irissë. And I suppose they won’t wish to be separated.” He shrugged, turning back to his sandwich and eating a few more bites.

"Well, we'll try, anyway," Maglor said, stealing a mushroom off Caranthir's plate. "Maitimo, are you going to eat?"

"Oh," Maedhros said, starting, and realized he had been watching Fingon the entire time--and apparently so intently that he had ignored his own breakfast.

Caranthir laughed boisterously: "Findekáno--do you make sure he eats when he's with you?"

Fingon, already feeling far more Elven than he had upon waking, sat up straighter and arched his brow at Caranthir. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t go hungry. I always enjoy when your brother is around, but I will not deny that he is most pleasing company when fully sated.” He brushed his foot against Maedhros’ calf, half in apology.

Caranthir blinked only once before laughing, and while Maglor chuckled appreciatively, it actually took Maedhros a few minutes before he realized what Fingon was insinuating, and turned as red as his hair, and reclaimed his leg while he finished his sandwich.

Fingon ate the rest of his sandwich and returned to sipping on his tea, glancing at Maedhros out of the corner of his eye. His cousin was not looking at him, however, and Caranthir would have to hold back laughter each time he caught Fingon looking. Before long, however, all had finished their meals, Maedhros being the slowest as he was the last to begin eating.

“Thanks again, Russ, that was delicious.”

Caranthir opened his mouth to add a teasing comment but closed it silently when Maglor elbowed him and began to speak. “Wonderful as always, brother. Now, I feel I’d best go check on the others. Preferably with my eyes closed. Please ignore any shouting you may hear.”

Maedhros managed a laugh at that. "If they get up now, I'll feed them." He turned to Fingon: "If anyone can wake them, Kano can." Maglor stood, collecting dishes, trying to minimize clanks as Fingon winced. "Well, how's your stomach?" Maedhros pressed, leaning in to Fingon once again. "Any better?"

“Little better.” Fingon took Maedhros’ hand in his own, squeezing it gently. “Truly, thank you. I have a bit of a headache, but my stomach isn’t threatening rebellion, so I’ll take that as a blessing and be quite grateful.” He curled into his chair, settling his feet on the edge of his seat and wrapping the comforter around him again.

As expected, shouts and curses came from down the hall, and Maedhros covered Fingon's ears protectively as Celegorm stomped out, hair disheveled and wearing a pink robe that was too small for him, and Aredhel followed, looking pleasant enough but sleepy. They dropped sullenly into chairs Maglor and Caranthir had cleared, and Maedhros pushed cups of tea at them. "Morning," he said. "All right?"

"I'm not hungover," Celegorm said.

"I sure am!" Aredhel said, and put her head on the table in front of her.

"You like your eggs scrambled, right, Rissë?"

Aredhel looked up with bloodshot eyes, nodded once, and dropped her head back to the table. Celegorm, while appearing to be wishing he were back in bed, looked far too pleased with himself. Fingon sighed, curling up with his tea. His hands shifted back and forth with nothing to do, and he yearned for a book to flip through as he sat, or better yet to be comfortably resting on Maedhros’ lap, wrapped in his arms.

“Now that you’re up, Moryo and Káno would like to include you in their plans for the day.” They both looked to Fingon at that, but he considered his job mostly done, and as his headache increased with the ambient noise level in the room, he went back to focusing on nothing and attempting to press the migraine out of his head.

"Oh--yes--" Maglor said, taking this as his cue: "We were going to go for a ride later, and Tyelko, don't you need to work in that new young horse of yours? Also, Mum wanted to have you over for dinner, Rissë."

Aredhel sighed dramatically. "Oh, I can't. We have, like, a thousand dishes to do. It's going to take all day!"

"Fingon and I could do them for you--" Maedhros offered, possibly showing his hand too early.

"Russ!" Fingon complained, but Celegorm raised his head, looking suddenly less hungover.

"Dishes in exchange for alone time, you say?" He grinned. "An admirable trade, brother, and a fair one."

“I’m failing to see anything admirable or fair in this,” Fingon grumbled. A party he had not asked for, a hangover he did not want, and more dishes than he could easily count scattered across one of the countertops. He sighed, but had to smile slightly when he glanced over at Maedhros. For Maedhros, he could deal with a kitchen full of dishes he did not want anything to do with. For Maedhros he, even with a headache and a sore body, could do quite a lot. “Irissë, is this arrangement acceptable to you?” He shot her a glance that made it clear trying to bargain for anything more would be futile.

"Oh, yes, brother dearest!" she cried, leaning over to kiss him.

Maedhros smiled, and started in on the dishes before they had even finished their breakfast. By the time his brothers and cousin had left, he had a sizeable stack of clean but wet dishes completed. It was a simple task, in the end: rinsing wine goblets and crumbs off of plates. The worst of the cleaning was the breakfast dishes.

Maedhros carried Fingon back to the counter, handed him a towel, and set him to drying. "If your head's not better yet, we could try some willow bark tea. And more water."

“It’s greatly improved at the moment.” He laughed. “I think the peace and quiet helps. I wouldn’t be opposed to some tea, however. And perhaps getting outside, in the shade at least, after we’ve finished the last of these.” He looked at the piles of sparkling dishes beside him, and the pile still left to be cleaned. “How can such a small group of Eldar cause this much of a mess?” He shook his head a small amount in disbelief. “Ah, well. I suppose it is of no matter. Tell me, beloved, what do you wish to do today, now that we’ve the property to ourselves?”

Maedhros grinned, stealing a kiss as he handed Fingon a plate. "Well, I would like to get you dressed--or not, really--" he teased, though he blushed himself. "And we could go for a walk? Shoot some arrows. Fish, perhaps? I do love the pond you have just over the hill. We could pack a picnic and go there?"

Fingon smiled back at him. “That sounds lovely. And there is a perfect weeping tasar there that we can sit by--at some point I really should have the Ambarussa over. It’s close enough to the water that they could swing in off it…” Fingon waited until Maedhros had looked over at him again. “Now, I didn’t know you were encouraging the nudity phase your younger siblings seem to be so enjoying, and I certainly have not been, but for you I suppose I could be convinced that clothes were unnecessary.” He loved the color that had risen to Maedhros’ cheeks. It made him look slightly younger, and complemented his hair perfectly. It made Fingon want to find more ways to keep it there.

"I was just joking," Maedhros said hurriedly. "I mean--I could hardly complain--but--but what if someone _saw_?" He hid his face doing dishes again. Already they were nearing the end of the pile.

“Well,” Fingon did not try to hide his amusement. “I suppose I wouldn’t have anything to worry about. Their eyes would be fixed on you and they would hardly even notice I was there…then again, perhaps I should be worried. I’m not sure how I feel about random Eldar getting to admire your beautiful hröa. Does that make me a bad person, or does that sound reasonable?”

"Wait. I never said anything about _me_ being naked!" Maedhros protested, his face beginning to hurt from trying to keep the grin from it. "You must stop teasing me, Finno. Go get dressed, I'll finish up here."

“Are you sure? I can help you with the last few…” Maedhros waved him away, and Fingon made his way to his chambers. He opened the drapes and made up the bed, and set out comfortable clothing for the day. He released his hair, aware that new plaits were a necessity, and turned on the shower to rinse off quickly.

After washing, he glanced at the outfit lying on the bed, and then at his closet. And while he presently had no real intention of wearing it outside, his eyes lingered on an entirely inappropriate robe that Turgon had given him as a gag gift. It was made of a shimmering, almost entirely transparent material that appeared white at first glance, but had shades of blue throughout. The edges and cuffs were set with blue crystals, as was the gold belt that tied it. A matching pair of equally transparent, light trousers lay folded with the garment.

Fingon put on the outfit, dragging brush through his hair and, though he most often refused it on general principle, added a lotion to his hair to keep it at least slightly controlled. He added a cuff bracelet with similar blue stones, and opted to forego shoes and socks. After a glance at his reflection, which brought a slight flush to his face and caused him to look away quickly, he stepped lightly out of his room, wandering down the hall to where he heard a cupboard door close as Maedhros put the final washed and dried dishes away. He shivered lightly at the gentle brush of gossamer fabric against his skin, there and yet almost not there.


	4. Chapter 4

Previously:

_After washing, he glanced at the outfit lying on the bed, and then at his closet. And while he presently had no real intention of wearing it outside, his eyes lingered on an entirely inappropriate robe that Turgon had given him as a gag gift. It was made of a shimmering, almost entirely transparent material that appeared white at first glance, but had shades of blue throughout. The edges and cuffs were set with blue crystals, as was the gold belt that tied it. A matching pair of equally transparent, light trousers lay folded with the garment._

_Fingon put on the outfit, dragging brush through his hair and, though he most often refused it on general principle, added a lotion to his hair to keep it at least slightly controlled. He added a cuff bracelet with similar blue stones, and opted to forego shoes and socks. After a glance at his reflection, which brought a slight flush to his face and caused him to look away quickly, he stepped lightly out of his room, wandering down the hall to where he heard a cupboard door close as Maedhros put the final washed and dried dishes away. He shivered lightly at the gentle brush of gossamer fabric against his skin, there and yet almost not there._

* * *

Maedhros had the dishes stacked and most of them put away by the time Fingon returned. "Oh good," he said, not looking up, "I don't know where you keep the cheese cutter--WHAT IN ARDA ARE YOU WEARING?" he yelped, as by catching sight of Fingon he caught sight of...everything. After his initial outburst, however, he was immediately conflicted, and taken by desire. Fingon's form--all of it--was beautiful and breathtaking and Maedhros could only imagine what that would look like in the light. "You--you can't wear--what--where did you--?"

Fingon looked down demurely, playing with his ring. “Well, you know you all like to tease me for having a complete lack of fashion sense. So I’ve been trying to improve that aspect of myself for the last few months by wearing what I’ve been assured are the latest trends, and--” he glanced up at Maedhros, caught a glimpse of his expression, and burst out laughing. “Valar, Russ! It was Turukáno’s idea of a joke.” He looked up at his lover, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. “Do you like it, though?” he asked, spinning as he moved closer to Maedhros.

"I--" Maedhros stepped back, almost as if he were afraid of Fingon like this. His mouth was dry, and he swallowed thickly. "I like it, yes--only--" He didn't exactly want to forbid Fingon from wearing it (except that he kind of did), but if he wore it outside Maedhros couldn't be held responsible for his actions, or, as the case may be, inaction. He could hardly think straight now. "Uh," he said.

“Russ?” Fingon was in front of him now, and cupped his cheek with a hand. “I’m glad you like it.” He smiled. “And you can be glad that I’m choosing to wear this today. I wasn’t about to wear this to our party--though I wouldn’t mind dancing in it. Only with you, though. And not while other people are about.” He leaned up on his toes to brush his lips against Maedhros’. Fingon glanced at what his cousin was pulling together on the counter, and stepped over to a cupboard to put away the cheese cutter. “What’s for lunch, beloved?”

Maedhros could not pull his eyes from Fingon's form as he moved away to put the instrument away in a random side drawer. "Ah. Sandwiches?" His voice broke slightly, and he coughed to clear it, dropping his eyes when Fingon turned back around (but the way it clung to him and draped in all the right places, just a glimpse, a hint here and there, until suddenly he saw everything). "I made sandwiches." It was easier to talk to the floor. Yes. "And fruit. Well of course I didn't _make_ the fruit--" Okay, perhaps not. "And. Water to drink. I did not know if the cookies were off-limits or not."

“You’re welcome to whatever you want, Russ,” Fingon said with a grin, tone light though he was referring to more than food. “I’ll pack up a few cookies for us. Everything else sounds perfect. Including water-- I don’t even want to think about wine for a good, long while.” He added cookies, and surreptitiously grabbed a couple of rich pastries that he knew Maedhros liked, adding them to a basket and dropping in the food Maedhros had pulled together. “Hmm, perhaps a couple of blankets, if we don’t want to set up on the grass? Like I said, there’s a nice, shaded area close to the water and hidden by the trees.” Feeling much better physically, and better still for the way Maedhros was reacting to him, Fingon walked over to his cousin, grabbing his hand and threading their fingers together. “Shall we, or was there something more you wanted to pull together?”

"Ah--" Maedhros divested himself of the apron he was wearing and looked down at himself. He was wearing what he had on the day before--most of it, anyway, as he did not wear his over-tunic, and he was not wearing shoes. But the way was paved, the grass trimmed, and the walk short. He could not decide who was more underdressed: he or Fingon. "An umbrella? For shade?" 

Fingon nodded his agreement, pulling away to grab both that and the sheets. “I think I’m ready to see the sun now,” he stated with a smile, and led the way out the back door onto the patio. Maedhros followed him, and Fingon delighted in how casual he was being as he stepped out, barefoot, with Fingon. He looked at his cousin in the late morning sun, and doubted a more handsome being existed in the whole of Arda. He tilted his head up, reveling in the feeling of warm sunlight on him _everywhere_ through his current attire. “It’s beautiful out. And it feels amazing--thank you. This was the perfect suggestion.”

Maedhros smiled, making an effort not to look down. "Thank you," he returned. "Thank you for inviting me over--for gracing me with your presence. Thank you even--especially--for this," he waved his hand, though he blushed, at Fingon's attire. "It is most...exhilarating. I'm sorry if I'm not much of a conversationalist today."

Fingon nudged him with his shoulder. “You’ve been taking care of me all day, Russ. Last night, too,” he added with his own blush. “Thank you. And I am happy to speak with you all day, or to walk with you in silence. Whatever you wish, I shall attempt to make it happen.” He squeezed Maedhros’ hand as they turned off the path and began to cut through the grass. Fingon laughed lightly. “It’s been too long since I’ve wandered barefoot--years, in fact. This feels wonderful!” He curled his toes into the soft green carpet and bent down to brush across it with his hand. “We should do this more often, Russ.”

"Ohh, we definitely should," Maedhros said, unable to tear his eyes from Fingon's lean physique as seen through the sheer fabric. His dark nipples were taunting him, Maedhros decided.

Fingon sucked a quick breath as he caught Maedhros watching him. Keeping focused on the picnic was going to be as difficult for him as it was for his betrothed, if Maedhros continued staring at him like that. The silken slide of fabric across him did nothing to help. And, given what he had chosen to wear, his reaction was likely to be far more blatant than it otherwise would be. He kept his eyes forward as they reached the lake, and focused on finding a soft, flat area and unfolding the sheet to lay it out.

Maedhros followed Fingon about like a loyal dog, with about the same level of higher thought and intense (at least visual) focus. So when Fingon asked him if this seemed a good spot--under a large willow close to the edge of the pond--it took Maedhros a few tries to realize he was speaking, and then a few more tries to answer: "Ah. Yeah. Yes. It looks...great," he said, distracted with trying to catch a glimpse of Fingon's sex (which was not exactly difficult, thus his problem).

“Help me?” Fingon handed him one side of the sheet, and together they stretched it across the area. He ran his hand along the edges, pulling it flat and brushing out a few large wrinkles, and caught sight of Russ watching him. He felt himself twitch and turned to look at the area around them. Fingon glanced the sheet, then at the basket, and before he began setting up food, he opted to enjoy (at least for a minute) the sun and the currently crumb free sheet on a soft bed of grass. He settled on it, stretching out on his back with his arms behind his head. “Russ? Did you want to eat soon? Or are you still good from breakfast? We could eat in a while, if you want?”

Again, it took much of Maedhros' will to even process that Fingon was speaking to him, and an even larger effort to not respond with something short and low-brow about wanting to eat him instead. So he just nodded, and lay down on the blanket beside Fingon. He lay on his stomach, where the pressure kept his baser desires at bay, and from which direction he could still see most of Fingon's form. He had his fingers already brushing through Fingon's hair before he remembered to ask, and "May I plait your hair?" he rather blurted out.

Fingon looked over with a smile. “Of course.” He sat up with a sigh, scooting forward slightly and brushing the rest of his hair behind his shoulders. “I love your hands in my hair,” he admitted. And he loved having Maedhros sitting just behind him.

Maedhros took a careful breath, calming himself. From this angle, he could not see much, and while he could still imagine (which was almost worse), he could at least think clearly. "I, ah--" he said as he started in on something complicated which required a lot of skill and thought, "you look very--your outfit is--I'm sorry that I--" Okay, he really wasn't thinking clearly at all. He coughed and focused on hair again (Fingon's hair always undid him, too, though, so there was that struggle). "Lovely day," he managed lamely.

“I-it is.” Fingon brought his legs up slightly, so that he could rest his elbows on his knees. He found himself playing with his ring again. “You have nothing to be sorry about.” He glanced down at himself and realized that by the time Maedhros had completed his current project the tables would likely be more than turned on him. “Your appreciation is… entirely flattering and more than a little thrilling.” A corner of his mouth twisted up. “And this is only me--I almost dread the thought of you wearing something similar.” And he did shiver at the thought, causing the fabric draped about him to rustle. “I don’t believe I would be half as cognizant or capable as your are now,” he added, in reference to the design Maedhros was plaiting. He thought he recognized it by feel, and even if it was not what he expected it was certainly something intricate and difficult.

Maedhros paused, holding strands of Fingon's half-finished hair in one hand while he leaned forward. "There is nothing 'only' about you, Findekáno," he breathed, and pressed a kiss to the side of Fingon's neck. But his skin tasted so good he could hardly pull away, and he lingered to lick the spot, and then bit down gently, and then sucked even more gently before pulling back. "Ai, Finno," he groaned, his free arm going around Fingon's middle, the fabric smooth against his skin (and so thin, he could feel every contour of his cousin's form), "Would I were a servant in your household rather than Second Prince of the Noldor. I would be content with my life if it consisted of nothing but feeding you, cleaning you, plaiting your hair, and dressing you. You would never lack for anything, certainly not worship, for I would cherish the very ground you tread on, and I would count it comfortable to sleep at the foot of your bed nightly. There is nothing I would not give up for this."

Fingon bit down on his lip, hard, and inhaled sharply through his nose as he tried to control his watery eyes. “Do you think I would do any less for you? I love you,” he whispered, one arm reaching behind him to hold onto Maedhros. “And it’s not that I think little of myself,” he began, trying to keep his voice even. “It is that I am ‘only’ when next to you, my love and my light. You shine brighter than you ever realize, even now as you speak of caring for me.”

He brought up his free hand to trace along the mark his lover had left on his neck. “You know, I don’t think I would be able to sleep with you at the foot of my bed. I’d lie awake all night, unable to rest for want of you. I would rather be held safe in your arms, or have you tightly wrapped within mine.” He smiled, before his voice grew more serious, acknowledging that they were not yet wed, and not yet bonded. “But if you no longer looked upon me with favor, at the foot of your bed I would gladly lie, or outside your door to wait upon you as much as you would allow, and in that I would still find contentment and peace, heru.” As he spoke, however, he brought his arm down to wrap it tightly across Maedhros’ arm, squeezing it gently as he was loathe to even think of losing this, of losing Maedhros.

Tears misted his eyes and Maedhros' throat tightened at the thought. "Never, melda heru, not to the end of the world could I not look on you with favor--it would take much more than the whims of my heart to unmake us, for in this I am constant, if in nothing else." Giving up on the braids, he let go Fingon's hair and turned his cousin around in his arms. He had had more words, he thought, but he found himself kissing Fingon instead--hard, desperate, pressing him back to the blanket. "I need--I need these off of you," he panted when he broke for air, but returned his lips to Fingon's as he tugged impatiently at laces and ties to have Fingon bare before him.

Fingon’s head fell back and his back arched, baring his neck, his chest, all of himself as he yielded to Maedhros’ desires and his own. His arms tangled with Maedhros as began trying to undo his lover’s tunic and the same time, and when Maedhros looked ready to brush off his hands, he thrust up against him, biting at his lip and using the moment of stillness that wrought to finish unlacing Maedhros’ top.

Glancing down he groaned at the sight of himself, covered yet uncovered and shimmering as though under water where the light hit him, brushing against Maedhros’ clothed form. “Valar, Russ!” He fought to tear his eyes away from the sight, as Maedhros’ front heaved with deep breaths, and his hips moved teasingly against Fingon’s.

Groaning, still kissing Fingon, Maedhros shifted to wedge his knee in between Fingon's legs--and delighting that he could see as well as feel how Fingon reacted to that. Pulling suddenly away, Maedhros reared up on his knees, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it behind him. He worked quickly at the laces of his tousers and shoved them down, freeing himself at the same time Fingon freed himself. Collapsing down on Fingon again, Maedhros wrapped long fingers around both of them together, bracing himself on one elbow as he drank in another thirsty kiss.

Fingon’s body arched and trembled, toes curling with desire. He gripped at Maedhros’ shoulder and at his head, pulling him down into kiss after kiss until they broke away gasping for air. His hips jerked at the feeling of Maedhros’ hand around them both and the silken slide when Maedhros pressed against him. “Russ! My Russ, my Russandol,” he panted, breathed, and soon Maedhros’ name was all he wanted to say. He wondered, distantly, what need there was for any other word or thought. Freeing one leg from underneath him, he brought it up, wrapping it around Maedhros’ waist as he moved against him, trying to equally counter each of his lover’s movements, and needing to feel Maedhros, to be joined with Maedhros, in every way he could.

"Wait, Findekáno," Maedhros panted, easing Fingon's leg from around his waist and pressing it to the earth. "You are a temptation too great to resist--and we must w-wait," he stuttered, because here, like this, in this moment, what they were waiting for seemed almost laughable. He made up for it with a hundred tender kisses, a thousand private sighs. "Give me your hand, Finno," he whispered, arranging them so that his own fingers closed around Fingon's, over both their straining arousals: "Together, as in all things."

Fingon choked on a sob. “Together,” he whimpered, squeezing his thighs around his lover though he kept both feet firmly planted on the sheet. He could feel the grass under him and heard the sigh of wind on the water. The sun was on his face and everywhere, everywhere Maedhros was with him and around him and stroking him, moving him, guiding him and keeping him. He squeezed his hand around them both, hips stuttering along with his lover’s at the motion. “Oh! Russ. Want this--ne--need this. You, need you.”

He tilted his head to mouth at Maedhros’ neck, intent on raising a mark in mirror image of the one Maedhros had placed on him as he plaited his hair. “I know we must, I know,” Fingon breathed against Maedhros skin as he continued to lavish attention on the area, sucking roughly and then pressing gentle kisses with and lathing the spot with his tongue. “I know we must wait--but Valar, Russ. I would give almost anything to feel you inside me right now. Want you.” He squeezed his hand around Maedhros’ length again. “All of you. So deep it will feel like we can never be parted.” Finishing with the mark he dropped his head back, watching Maedhros move above him against a backdrop of clear sky. “I’ll be so good for you,” he whispered. “And you will feel so good in me. Like you belong--like I was made for you. And our fëar--our fëar will join and we’ll never be parted again. I’ll carry a part of you in me and shall be within you for all time. Together, always.”

"Yes, yes," Maedhros groaned, hips stuttering in time with his breath. "Thou wast made for me, and I for thee. In time, in time we will be bonded: the wait will make it all the sweeter." He was so close, with Fingon writhing beneath him and Fingon's mouth on his neck. "You are already so good, so good for me, I can scarcely imagine how it will--I might perish from--" He felt the pressure building and, " Oh, Finno!" He cried as he spent, hot against Fingon, and drew him over the edge at the same time.

Fingon cried out Maedhros’ name and a half sob as he followed Maedhros, clinging to him as though there were nothing else in all of Arda. And when he had spent, he fell back against the sheet and the soft grass below it, pulling Maedhros down atop  him so that his body was entirely blanketed. “Russ, my Russ.” He stroked his fingers through his cousin’s locks, hand tracing along the length of his back. Maedhros’ eyes gleamed at him, and, now that they were spent, he brought his leg back up, clinging to his lover with his entire body. “Mmm, that--that is a good way to start the afternoon.” He smiled at Maedhros, content to lie like this, though the lake called to him as did the scent of their luncheon as a slight breeze carried it across where they lay. “Thank you, Russ,” he said softly, as his fingers continued to play over his lover’s skin. “You undo me, and make the whole of creation seem to disappear but for yourself.” He squeezed them together. “I meant what I said, you know. The words were spoken in passion, but remain true. And though we are not bonded, know that I am yours as long as you will have me and however you will have me. Inyë tye-méla, tenn’ Ambar-metta.”

“And I love you, Findekáno,” Maedhros returned, laying a finger against Fingon’s lips, “but you must cease with this talk of ‘if’ and ‘as long as’—unless you wish to insult me.” He sat up on his elbows again and gave Fingon as stern a glare as he could manage while in his current blissed state.  “I have promised myself to you in every way I am able until such time as you are of age. Though I know you intend to grant me freedom and fairness with these caveats, I beg you to rescind them. If I should ever say I do not love you with my everything, then my word is forfeit, and I hope you would do all in your power to reclaim me from whatever madness took me. Tenn’ ambar-metta.” He followed this with a kiss. “And until we are formally bonded this is all the more important.”

Fingon lifted himself until he was half-sitting, and clung to his betrothed. “Then I shall, and you shall have to do the same. Love you.” He wrapped his arms around Maedhros’ neck, holding him as though he would never let go. When he pulled back, it was with a tear marked face and a blinding smile. “You went and got us all messy again, Russ. Shall we to the lake briefly before lunch?” His stomach rumbled. “Lunch does smell quite delicious…”

"So your appetite has returned!" Maedhros chuckled, and looking down, he smeared the mess on Fingon's skin wickedly. "As much as I love you filthy," he commented, biting his lip, "I think a swim in the pond would be delightful." Kissing Fingon quickly, he sat up, wriggling out of the rest of his clothes and laying them out in the sun before doing the same with Fingon's clothes. "You know--" he said, and shook Fingon's shirt at him, "this is much more distracting than seeing you entirely naked!"

“Then I may take to wearing it more often when we’re together,” Fingon replied with a smile. “Forgive me, my love, but I quite like you distracted.” He stood, offering his hand to Maedhros, and when his cousin was standing kept a grip on it as they walked to the lake. “And I’m not sure you fully appreciate how distracting it is for me to have you so… entranced. I would be tempted wear such clothing every day if only for the look in your eyes and your smile at seeing me dressed in such.” He squeezed Maedhros hand and dipped a foot in the water, which was comfortably warm and clear enough to spot fishes swimming a small distance from the shore.

"Oho, do you, now?" Maedhros said, putting his hands on his hips. "Either you do not have any faith in the power you hold over me, Findekáno, or you are cruel and conceited!" But his eyes were laughing, and without warning, Maedhros reached out and shoved the flat of his hand into Fingon's chest, pushing him back flailing into the pond with a terrific splash.

Fingon sputtered, coming up from air and shaking his unraveling plaits out of his face. “Really? I’m the cruel, conceited one? That was so childish Turko would have done it!” He splashed at Maedhros, laughing, and pushing off into deeper water with  a grin. He brushed his hands over himself, trying to dislodge the last remnants of their previous activity before wading back to the shore. “The water’s perfect! If my stomach weren’t busy making its needs and wants known I could stay in for quite a while.”

Maedhros had been about to dive in after Fingon, but though he had eaten his fill he dragged blanket and picnic basket closer to the bank. "I'm not hungry, but that should be within reach--" he slid into the water to test it. "When you get hungry." He ducked below the surface, wetting his hair and scratching at his scalp before swimming over to Fingon. Here in the shallows his knees still brushed against the bottom of the pond, but it was otherwise perfect.

Fingon smiled, priorities changing as Maedhros swam over to him. He took his cousin’s hands in his own, moving them backwards into deeper water. Chest deep, he moved to wrap his arms about his lover’s neck, smiling up at him in the warmth and the water and the light of the Trees at its brightest. He moved to kiss Maedhros, but this time with the water buoying him up instead of rising on his toes, he floated, wrapping both legs securely around Maedhros’ waist as he pulled him into a long, thorough kiss. It was not desperate or needy, but full of future promises and heartfelt desire.


End file.
